The Racketeer
by Breanne Nedra
Summary: rack-e-teer: n. Someone who gains money illegally, as through fraud, exhortation, etc. / Hi. My name is Ned Starling. I am The Racketeer. And I wasn't born yesterday. : A future-set multi-chapter. Inspired by John Grisham's book of the same name.
1. Alpha

Rating: K-plus, for mentions of substance abuse

**IMPORTANT NOTE:** The story of _The Racketeer_ is set twenty-one years into the future from the first _39 Clues_ series. Amy Cahill and Ian Kabra are thirty-five; Dan Cahill, Madison Holt and Reagan Holt are thirty-two; Jonah Wizard and Hamilton Holt are thirty-six; the Starlings are all thirty-seven. I tried to keep it canon to the series, as this is not AU, but depending on the aftermath of _Flashpoint,_ the latest book, it may end up being AU anyway. However, for _The Maze of Bones_ through _Countdown_, this story fits the canon. If you have any questions, feel free to send me a PM - I promise I'm nice. (:

Also, one last thing: this is inspired by John Grisham's book, _The Racketeer_. (Which I highly recommend to anybody looking for a good read.) However, because it is "inspired by" it and not _based off of _it, I feel the need to warn you that my version of the story and his version of the story could not even be put on the same shelf at the library without messing up the Dewey Decimal System. They are very different, so if you have read Mr. Grisham's _The Racketeer_, you have neither read mine nor spoiled any plot twists. If you haven't read his, definitely read it (just keep in mind that it's an adult book, so if you don't like the adult themes, references, and swearing, definitely _don't_ read it) but do it after you read mine. His is way better. ;)

Most importantly, I hope you enjoy my fanfiction - that's the reason I posted it. (:

Hugs,

Bre xoxo

* * *

_Dedicated to **Michael**, my godfather, who is the reason I'm still writing today._

_Thanks so much, Mike. You're the greatest godfather in the universe._

* * *

**Alpha | by Breanne Nedra | January 2****nd****, 2014**

Ned Starling pulled up to the curb a couple blocks away from his destination. The streets were busy, people walking to and fro down the sidewalk, cars whizzing by on the road. He sat back in his BMW's leather seats for a moment, going over the plan one last time. Everything had to be perfect. One slip up and the whole thing would be down the toilet – and he was not one to unclog a toilet, even if it was purely metaphorical.

Putting up the convertible's roof and cutting the engine, Ned slipped out of the car. His reflexes kicked in as a red pickup truck blew by, nearly hitting Ned and almost taking his car door off in the process. He released his breath slowly. He was way too jumpy.

Hugging the side of the convertible, he slammed his car door shut and slipped around to the sidewalk, where he smiled in relief. No getting hit before the plan gets set in motion. He dropped an hour's worth of coins into the parking meter next to him. This wouldn't take long.

He weaved between passersby, ignoring them all, and them returning his indifference. That was one thing he loved about Washington D.C. – nobody judged anybody else, mostly because they ignored them. It was the perfect place to make history.

"Hello, boys," he greeted warmly, walking up to the guard station a few blocks later. "How are things?"

"Buzz off, Ned," growled a man with hair so red it was a fiery orange. "You know we can't let you in."

"Aw, c'mon, fellas, at least give me a chance to ask before you turn me away," Ned grumbled. "It's not like you don't know me."

"Security Protocol Four. No one gets in."

"But-"

"Cut it, Ned."

Ned turned to see a particularly muscled man with blond hair styled like a shark fin walking toward the small group. "There's my favorite Secret Service member!" He grinned in a laughably warm fashion. "How's it goin', Hamilton?"

Hamilton Holt, who was six-two and had to weigh at least two hundred-fifty pounds, was definitely not Ned's favorite Secret Service member – for a number of reasons. The Clue hunt might be a good place to start, as would be the age-old skirmish between the Ekaterinas and the Tomas. Ultimately, however, it boiled down to the fact that Hamilton was usually the one to cart Ned off the property whenever he tried to get into the White House, and Ned had a tendency to hold a grudge over those kinds of things – especially considering he had a perfectly fine reason to be on the property, and Hamilton darn well knew it. "Don't try to kiss up, Ned. You know we can't let you in."

"Why? Because I'm a _civilian_ and I might_ hurt the President_ with all my _evilness _and _normality_?" Ned scoffed. "C'mon, I don't have anything against anybody in that building. Except maybe you, but technically you're not in the building itself, and I think that, given my reasons, my dislike is justified."

"I can't go against orders," Hamilton replied firmly, unruffled. "Sorry, Ned."

Ned huffed. "Don't you think you kinda _owe_ me for the 'accident'" - the use of air quotations made Hamilton scowl - "a few years back?"

"No, actually, I don't think I do," Hamilton snipped. "Because as I recall, I helped to steal multiple priceless items to make sure your brother didn't get to find out what being six feet under the soil feels like."

"And what was it like to be able to put 'master art thief' on your résumé?" Ned wondered aloud suggestively, since the other agents had started talking amongst themselves. "Surely it didn't get you this amazing job?"

"If you're implying that you'll turn me in, I'd like to see you try. It's my word against yours."

"True," Ned sighed. He didn't actually have any evidence to back up any claims he might be able to make against Hamilton, so going to Interpol would prove useless. Besides, everything had been cleared up years ago. "How about this: Please let me in, Hamilton."

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"I don't care if it's an ugly please – the answer is still no."

"I'll be your best buddy!"

"You can't be someone else's best buddy in exchange for a favor!"

Ned sighed again and turned to go. "Okay, yeah, you're right. I guess I'll just email Ted and tell him that you wouldn't let me in to see him..."

Hamilton sighed. "Come on," he snapped, "but don't even _think_ of trying anything stupid!"

Ned perked up, even as Hamilton grabbed the collar of his trench coat to drag him to his destination.

Getting in was always half the battle.

* * *

Theodore Starling looked up from the papers spread across his desk as the door burst open to reveal Hamilton Holt dragging a man in a trench coat into his office. He recognized the man immediately.

"He wouldn't leave," came Hamilton's explanation. "Sorry if you were doing something _important_." He practically sneered the last word at Ned.

Ted smiled. "No worries, Ham. Thanks for bringing him in."

Hamilton gave a somewhat dissatisfied grunt, which quickly turned to irritation when Ned threw a mocking kiss and a wave at him when Ted looked away to put his papers off to the side. Hamilton cast a death glare at the second-youngest triplet as he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Ted turned to Ned, grinning warmly. "Hey, Ned, how have you been?"

"Wicked awesome, as always," replied Ned, sitting down on one of the soft leather couches in the middle of the spacious room. "I'm going to be doing a presentation next week about the advancements in nanotechnology."

Ted frowned in confusion, tilting his head to the side as he sat down on the sofa across from his brother. "I thought the institute had stowed the development of nanotechnology after they realized that the nanodoctors they were making could be used to carry poisons, chemicals and deadly diseases into the patient's body."

"They did," Ned admitted, "but I convinced them to bring it back."

"Why in the world would you do that?"

"We _need_ these nanodoctors, Ted. People die every day due to illnesses that, when the doctors are fully developed, they could have helped with. Are there a few health risks? Yes. But UV rays can kill the bacteria and viruses that would cause the diseases, and as long as nobody decides to put bleach or something into the liquid of their hibernation tubes, they should never come in contact with any sort of poisonous substance to begin with."

Ted hummed in thought for a moment before nodding slowly. "I suppose I can see your point, but any cracks or shaded areas would still be contaminated, UV or no."

His brother waved the comment aside. "You know as well as I do that UV sanitation is a secondary sterilization method. I was just using that as an example."

"True. Just don't go testing your little mini robots on anything until they're done, okay?"

"You got it, bro," Ned grinned. "So enough about me – how are things in the big, white and presidential?"

"The ordeal with The Racketeer is still going on, so why don't you tell me," Ted said.

"You still haven't caught that guy?"

"The only way we even know it's him is because he leaves that same note at every place he's targeted." Ted ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in a couple places.

"I remember you telling me about that." Ned recited: "_Sorry for the inconvenience, but you've been racketeered. Signed, The Racketeer_. Classic – bordering on cliché."

"It's like he's taunting us," Ted continued with a nod. "He always handwrites the note, on the same yellow sticky-notes with the same red ink pen, but he must use his subordinate hand, because no matter how many times we run the note through the CIA's logs, we never find a match."

"Maybe he's just one of the people you don't have a handwriting sample on," Ned suggested. "Or maybe it's like in Season Three of _24_, and you need to check the list of people who are presumed dead."

"I've gotten so desperate that we've checked the files of people we _know_ are dead; like, we've found the body and everything." Ted sighed and straightened his hair back into it's usual spic-and-span appearance. "There's nobody in the system with that kind of penmanship. I can only hope that you're right and we can't find him because his handwriting isn't on file, not because he's bamboozling us by using his left hand." He slowly released a breath. "Whoever this guy is, he's amazing at what he does. I may have to get his autograph if we ever arrest him."

"It'll work out," Ned promised. "He'll mess up one day, and then capturing him will be a cinch."

"For the country's sake, I hope you're right." Ted grabbed a bottled water off the coffee table and took a long drink from it. "But enough about my problems. Was there a particular reason you came to see me today?"

"Well..." Ned started reluctantly. "There was a reason. I'm just not really sure how to break it to you."

Ted frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I come bearing a warning," Ned said quietly, solemnly. "It's The Racketeer. He wants you out of Office. And he wants you out _now_."

Ted leaned back into his seat, suddenly feeling tired. "Why?"

Ned shrugged. "I don't know."

"Then how do you know about this?"

"Insider info," smiled Ned, "of a sort." He reached his hand into the inner pocket of his trench coat; when he produced it, he was clutching a pistol. He dramatically cocked it as he stood up from his chair, aiming the barrel right between his brother's stunned blue eyes.

Ted froze. His eyes flicked to and fro between the gun's ominous barrel and his brother's impassive face. He was barely able to get out the words, "You're working for him."

That's when Ned did something strange – he threw his head back, laughing like it was all in good fun. Like he wasn't pointing a gun at his brother. Like a little kid... Like a maniac. He smiled. "Do you really think I would settle for number two? I've been number two my entire life. I'm even the second-oldest triplet, for crying out loud!" He was still smiling, but it was no longer the smile of someone who had heard a good joke – it was a smile with the arcaneness of the Cheshire Cat's.

"What's wrong with being the second-oldest?" Ted asked cautiously, raising his hands to where his brother could see them, though not quite a surrendering position.

"Says the youngest," Ned quipped.

"By three minutes and twenty-two seconds," Ted shot back.

"Like it matters," replied Ned. "So, now, this is when it gets all James Bond-like. I'm going to repeat my request, and the consequences of ignoring that request, to you; if you're smart, you'll run along and do it. If you're not, then you'll do something stupid and pointless in the smart thing's place. Of course, _I_ know which one is the smart choice, but since I'm so nice and know all about your love of over-thinking things, I'm going to give you two weeks to make your decision. After you've made it, I will gleefully tune into your resignation speech – I love watching your speeches, by the way; you're a natural – and I promise I won't set my nasty plan into action. However, if you don't resign within that time limit, I will assume you chose the stupid path, and I will ruin you." He grinned wider. "Any questions?"

"You're The Racketeer," Ted whispered in shock.

"There we go!" Ned said happily. "Now we're on the same page."

"How could you do this to me?" Ted rose cautiously from his seat. "How could you do this to your own brother?"

"Hmm, let me think," Ned murmured contemplatively. He paused for a moment, pretending to ponder the question. Finally, he said, "Gosh, I don't know, Ted. Probably the same way you could betray me so swiftly back in college." He looked at his younger brother, eyes flashing in a strangely calm rage.

Ted blinked, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't play stupid," Ned sneered. "We both know you're not."

"But I don't know what you mean!"

"If you don't know, then you need to ask somebody."

"I thought I was asking you."

"I suggest someone who's not pointing a gun at your head." Ned smiled. "But if it makes you feel better, maybe one of these days I'll tell you."

"But I want to know now."

"But I don't want to tell you now." Ned's eyes twinkled merrily. "And you know how I feel about altruism."

"And you know how _I_ feel about manipulation," Ted replied. "What makes you think I'll resign just because you're threatening me? I could have you arrested right now, you know."

"You won't do that, Ted. And do you know why? Because I have a plan. A glorious plan. And if I put it in motion, things will happen. Bad things. Heads will roll. People may die. By the end of it, the entire country will be mine. One way or another, you will not be the President at the end of this whole thing. But that's okay, because nobody will want you to be, anyway. Because all the bad stuff will be _your_ doing – as far as the people of America will know." Silence engulfed them for a few moments as the words soaked in. Ned gave a mockingly sympathetic smile. "And all you have to do to make sure none of that happens is step down from your Presidency."

Another moment of silence, and then Ted managed to ask, almost tearfully, "What happened to you, Ned?"

Ned said nothing – simply raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Ted cowered at the sound of the gunshot. It echoed through the vaulted ceilings and seemed to be fifty times louder than it should have been. He was surprised his ears weren't ringing. When he glanced up a second after the shot, he saw what his brother had aimed for: one of the large floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk.

And Ned was already sprinting toward it.

Ted shot off after him, jumping over the small coffee table between the sofas they had been sitting on. He put every ounce of energy he had into catching up to his brother.

But Ned just kept on going. His bullet had blasted through the window, weakening the glass's integrity. He ran, and just before he reached the window he threw his shoulder forward and broke through the invisible barrier.

Ted attempted to grab his brother's sleeve just before he crashed into the glass, but Ted missed, only succeeding in ripping off a piece of cloth from the trench coat's collar. His arm scraped painfully along a particularly sharp shard, and he cried out in pain involuntarily, clutching at the wound.

In the meantime, Ned landed harmlessly on the White House's South Lawn, immediately getting up and sprinting away toward the nearby trees. The trees weren't very thick, but he could lose himself in them and slip away before he could be caught.

Injured, with no one around to help him, and his brother armed with both a gun and an enormous head start, Ted didn't need his genius IQ to know that Ned wasn't going to be caught. Not today.

The Racketeer was getting away again.

* * *

Ned barely dared to breathe as he hid behind a hedge fence near the property line of the White House. He listened carefully for any signs that the Secret Service knew where he was. Upon hearing nothing, he shrugged off his coat and draped it over his arm, careful to fold it so the rip wasn't notable. He slipped out from behind the hedge and stepped onto the street, blending in with the crowd. Keeping his head down all the way to his car, he made sure to act as innocent as all the other pedestrians.

When he reached his BMW's welcoming interior, he let himself melt into the seat.

And he smiled.

All according to plan.


	2. Bravo

_For **Anne**, **Brenna**, **Camille** and **Sarah**._

_Thanks for inviting me to dance with you!_

* * *

**Bravo | by Breanne Nedra | January 26th, 2014**

As Ted Starling sat in the conference room the next morning, he didn't feel like himself. The shock that had come with finding out his brother was a most-wanted criminal had nearly faded, and now all Ted felt was confused, angry and depressed. As if all that wasn't bad enough, he had to come up with a plan to arrest Ned before he could do any more damage, swindle away more money from innocent people.

It hurt Ted knowing that he was probably going to be putting his brother away in prison for the rest of his life. It hurt a lot.

But what could he do? He remembered the conversation he'd had with Hamilton just minutes after Ned crashed through the Oval Office's window:

_"__So, let me get this straight," Hamilton said, pacing endlessly around the Oval Office. "Your brother is T__he Racketeer, the same criminal for whom we've been searching for the last eight months, and upon telling you of his conniving alter ego, he shot out your window and took off in __a __death sprint across the South Lawn and somehow managed to escape – because you cut your arm on a piece of glass?"_

_ Ted, who was again sitting on one of the leather sofas, this time getting his arm treated by a physician, grimaced. "It sounds so pathetic when you put it that way."_

_ "It _is_ pathetic. But I can't say I expected much, you being an Ekat and all. The gene that gives people a high tolerance for pain skipped over you guys, I think."_

_ "Tee-hee. Are you going to help me, or would you prefer to throw insults at me?"_

_ "I'm just sayin'."_

_ "So am I."_

_ Hamilton grinned, but that was quickly replaced by a serious expression. "What are we going to do?"_

_ "We have no choice but to arrest him."_

_ "Are you prepared to do that?"_

_ If Ted wanted to be completely honest with himself, he wasn't sure. But he thought he was. He knew he had to bring his brother in whether he was or not, so it didn't even matter. Not really. "Yes."_

_ Hamilton studied the President's face. "Are you sure?"_

_ "I don't see what else I can do," Ted replied honestly. "He's a criminal. I was a brother before I was President, but my country comes first. I can't let him swindle people out of money and choose to look the other way just because I know who he is. That said, I don't really have a choice but to bring him in. Running anything in a way that doesn't involve honesty is the mark of a bad leader."_

_ "And you're positive your little triplet mind-meld thing won't get in the way?"_

_ Ted turned a steely gaze onto his friend. "Ham," he stated firmly, "I promise to do everything in my power to bring Ned down. He can't get away with this. He _can't_."_

Sitting in the conference room, remembering that, Ted suddenly felt twice as bad as before. He didn't like breaking promises, but he also didn't like the thought of arresting his brother.

However, it was too late to take back his decision, promise or no. He and Hamilton had started to come up with a plan to take Ned down, and they had both agreed on one thing: They needed a team. A good team. A team of strong, brave people they knew they could trust with something so important.

Ted had wanted to keep the operation a secret, so instead of having Brendah, Ted's secretary, make the calls, Hamilton had done it himself. Every agent had been invited to a meeting the next morning at ten AM – and that's where Ted was at that moment: in the conference room where the meeting was to take place, waiting for everybody to arrive.

Thankfully, the President wasn't alone with his thoughts for too long. At exactly ten minutes after ten, the team was led in by Hamilton.

Top Interpol agents Amy and Dan Cahill sat side-by-side on Ted's right. Top CIA agents Madison and Reagan Holt took their seats to Ted's left. Hamilton, the head of the Secret Service, sat next to Reagan. Ian Kabra, head of the Secret Intelligence Service (or Military Intelligence Sector 6 to the rest of the world), sat next to Amy Cahill.

The gang was all there.

"Good morning, everybody," Ted greeted. "How was the trip?"

"Dreadful," Ian piped up first. "First class was completely booked, so I had to ride _coach_ to get over here. Can you believe it? Me, in coach? It was dreadful. Absolutely dreadful. You had better hope that it was worth it."

"I'm sure it will be," Ted assured. He glanced around. "Has everybody been briefed?"

"Yeah, Hammer gave us a rundown on the way here!" Dan cried enthusiastically. "Dude, that is so cool! You're related to the most notorious criminal this decade! Interpol has been going NUTS looking for him, and he just waltzed into your office, all like, 'Oh yeah! I'm bad! In both definitions of the word! And Ted – I AM YOUR BROTHER! MUWAHAHAHA!' Strummin' on an air guitar, you know? And you're all like, 'NOOOOOO!' Like some weird _Star Wars_ spoof!" Amy sent her brother a death glare and he amended, "I mean, not that I don't feel bad for you or anything... It's just cool..."

Ted found himself smiling. "The way you say it makes it sound a lot more exciting than it actually was."

"Did he at least do an evil laugh?"

The President had to think about it. "Yeah, actually, he did."

"Woo!"

Hurriedly going back to the original topic, Ted asked, "So everybody knows what happened?" Nods around the table, so he continued, "We need to come up with a plan to arrest Ned."

"What, Starling, all those genius brains of yours and you can't figure out how to arrest someone yourself?" Madison said.

"Anybody else, yeah, but this is my brother we're talking about – I know this isn't going to be a one-man operation, even if he were to turn himself in. We need to do this quickly – and quietly, if at all possible."

Amy pulled out a notebook. "What's his address? If we show up unexpected, we can grab him silently."

Ted shook his head. "Too easy. Ned would never make it that simple."

"Then what's your big plan, Ted?" Reagan inquired. "If you're not willing to try anything simple because you're sure he's thought of that, then you must have some sort of idea on what to do."

"The easiest way," Ian spoke up, "would be to get him to come to us."

"And how do you propose we do that, genius? He'd be bound to know something was up!" Madison argued.

Ian ignored the CIA agent, and directed a question at Ted. "What's something Ned loves more than anything in the world?"

Ted scratched his jaw thoughtfully. "His yacht?"

"That's the best you can come up with?"

"I thought the question was rhetorical."

"Why on Earth would it be rhetorical?"

"Because it's obvious. The only thing Ned loves more than himself is myself and our sister – after that comes himself and his yacht. I wasn't joking about the yacht. He loves that thing like it was his kid."

"I get it now!" Hamilton said. "We hunt down his yacht and vandalize it – and when he comes down to see what happened, we jump him!"

Ted looked at the Tomas, brow wrinkled in confusion. "Um... No."

"Aw, why not?"

"Just... no."

Dan, grinning, looked at his friend. "Dude, the idea is to arrest a criminal, not become one."

Hamilton jokingly argued back, "If we become criminals then we'll be able to think like criminals. It'll make arresting Ned a turkey shoot."

"True, but what about-"

"Let's stop this line of conversation before it gets too far out of hand," Ted said, but he was smiling. "I have a feeling that if it goes on too much longer that something will happen to end up getting me impeached."

"Can we get back to what _I_ was saying?" Ian snapped. "I swear, I'm the only one thinking here."

Amy pressed her lips together. "Continue, Ian."

"_Thank you_, Amy. Now, to confirm, you said that yourself and Sinead are the most important things to Ned, correct?"

"Correct."

"Where is Sinead?"

"Paris. She's a semi-famous scientific journalist there. We haven't seen her in person in over a year, but she emails and calls when she has time. Why?"

For the first time since arriving, Ian smiled. "I think a little reunion is in order."

Dan blinked. "Dude, that's actually a pretty ingenious plan."

"Thank you, Dan, but don't call me 'dude.'"

"Why? You care a lot about your clothes."

Hamilton slapped both of his hands over his mouth to stifle his laughs. Ian didn't look amused.

Ted sighed, shaking his head. "What do you mean by a reunion, Ian?"

"Get Sinead to fly to America for a while. Invite Ned to see her. You could meet in a public place, a café for instance, and the rest of us could mill around and act like we don't notice you. You give us a signal to come, and we grab Ned while he has his back turned. Easy in, easy out, as they say. He'll never know what hit him." Ian smiled smugly at the brilliance of his plan.

Ted nodded his approval. "I like it, except for one small flaw."

"And what would that be?"

"Ned knows you guys, especially Hamilton. If he were to see any one of you nearby, he would immediately figure out the plan. He'd run to where no one could find him, and our chance would be lost."

"So what do you suggest?" Reagan asked.

Amy had been sitting there quietly, listening, thinking. Suddenly, her face lit up in a grin. "If Ned knew we were going to be there, but thought our presence was benign, he wouldn't mind being in a room with us."

Hamilton frowned thoughtfully. "What's your idea?"

Amy turned to the President. "How would you feel about a family reunion?"

Ted was puzzled. "But... you guys aren't family."

"Not a _Starling_ family reunion – a _Cahill_ family reunion, like Grace used to have."

"That's way too many people. We need something smaller."

"How about a Clue hunters' reunion?" Madison suggested.

Reagan said, "Not many Clue hunters left, sis. Most of them are in this room. The only ones not here – or dead – are Jonah Wizard, Nellie Gomez and the Prez's siblings."

"Hey," Madison defended, "that's still ten people!"

"We need more than that, doofus."

Madison reared back a fist, but Ted grabbed it before she could deck her sister. "That might actually be enough. The only person Ned would really care about is Sinead." He glanced at Amy as the Holt sister pulled her wrist from his grasp. "What I'm more worried about is the fact that we've never done one before. Ned might find it suspicious."

"I doubt it," Dan replied. "He loves Sinead more than he hates you being President. He probably wouldn't think anything of it."

Amy agreed, "All he would care about is seeing his sister again."

"You guys underestimate my brother," Ted said grimly, "but the plan might be crazy enough to work."

"Great. Then we'll get everything underway. We have to make this look like a real party."

The President nodded his agreement. "Amy, I'm putting you in charge of everything related to getting this reunion set up. Anything you need, you get."

"I'll need to ask you some questions about location and the time it should take place," Amy replied, scribbling something into her notebook.

"We can talk about that as soon as we're done here. I'll take the job of getting Sinead to come. Being her brother, I'm the most likely to be able to sway her."

"One quick thing first," Hamilton cut in. "What are we going to do? I mean, do we nab Ned the second he shows up, or let him mingle a bit, or grab him as he's about to leave...? What's the plan here?"

"Arrest him in the way the situation requires. It's the only thing we can do."

"You mean other than shoot to kill?" Madison suggested innocently.

Ted's reply was as flat as a pancake. "You're not killing my brother."

"Why not? He's a criminal."

"That is a worst case scenario option and _nothing more_. Do I make myself clear?"

Amy frowned. "Ted... What if it were to come down to family versus country?"

Ted pursed his lips. "I'll make sure it doesn't come to that."

"But what if it does?" she pressed. "What if killing Ned is really the only way to stop him?"

"Yeah, man," Hamilton added, "you can't control everything."

Ted turned away, unsure. The truth was, even though he knew that Ned would be the one in the wrong in such a situation, it was hard to break the bond of triplets. Would he be President Theodore Starling in that moment, who would do anything for America? Or would he be Ted Starling, the genius boy with name that rhymes with his brother's?

He had no way of knowing.

"I'll cross that bridge if I get to it," Ted replied, deftly avoiding having to give a real answer. "For now, we've got bigger fish to fry. The sooner this reunion is set up, the better."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, back in his office, Ted slowly dialed the number Sinead had given him. He had never called her before, always worried that she would be busy, and, worse, when she tried to call him back that _he_ would be busy. He had decided multiple times that being a minor celebrity would stink like a dead fish.

He waited as the phone rang...

And rang...

And rang...

_"Bonjour, Sinead Starling. __Que puis-je faire pour vous?"_

"Uh," Ted said stupidly. "Bon-jore. _Me llamo _Ted. _No hablo_ French."

He heard laughing on the other end of the line. _"Oh my gosh, Ted! Hi! It's so great to hear from you!"_

"It's great to be talking to you, Sinead."

_"What's been going on? How's Ned? Anything exciting happen? Why are you calling?"_

Ted laughed. "Slow down! Um... Amy's throwing a reunion for all the people that participated in the Clue hunt; fine; Ned got me a navy-colored tie that had a bright orange lizard printed on it; I'm calling to invite you to the reunion." He paused. "That answers all your questions, right?"

_"Yeah, it does. The tie sounds so Ned." _She laughed. _"When is this reunion?"_

"This Saturday, so... four days, my time."

_"Oh... If it was on Monday then I could make it, but I'm in the middle of writing an article for my magazine, and..."_ She sighed. _"If I don't write a super interesting article by Sunday evening, then I won't have anything for my column."_

"I could help. What kind of topics do you have in mind?"

_"That's the problem. I don't have any. I've been researching, hours at a time, for days straight, and I've found nothing that interests me. I don't know what I'm going to do. I have a reputation to maintain – I can't write about just _anything_."_

"I wish there was something I could do to-" He stopped. Suddenly, he remembered the conversation he'd had with Ned about the nanodoctors he was helping to develop. "Actually, I think there is. Do you remember that lab center Ned was working at last time you visited?"

_"Yeah. He gave me a tour and I published an article about it."_

"He still works there, and he told me that they're still working on the nanodoctors. What if you came and interviewed him about it? I bet the science world would go nuts to learn more about that stuff, and it would certainly keep up your image. What do you say?"

Sinead gasped happily. _"Do you think he would?!"_

"It's Ned. He'd do anything for you."

_"Then yes. Yes, I'll come over! Just give me a day to pack and I'll __be __on the first flight this Thursday. Thanks so much, Ted! You're a lifesaver!"_

"You're welcome, Sinead. See you later this week!"

_"__You bet. Au revoir, fr__è__re!"_

_ Click._

Ted set the phone down. Not only was Sinead coming, but she had a reason to talk to Ned. That was definitely a good thing.

But he could only hope it would all go according to plan.

* * *

**Note:** As you can see, I kept the personalities of the characters truer to the first book series than anything else. That is how it will be through the whole story. (: I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you so much for reading.

-Bre xoxo


	3. Charlie

_For **Channing**, who loves telling me how much she loves my writing._

* * *

**Charlie | by Breanne Nedra | February 23rd, 2014**

Ned Starling was angry.

No, correction, he was livid. Furious.

In his hand he held a piece of paper, which he promptly balled up in a snit and threw across the room with a cry of frustration. It bounced off his living room window, landing harmlessly on the floor. Somehow, that seemed insulting.

Oooh, Ted! That evil little- Ned slowly dragged his hand down his face in an attempt to calm himself.

The piece of paper was not technically the problem. That was a lame invitation to some Clue hunters reunion that Amy Cahill had set up so everybody could see everybody else again. He was positive that his brother had stuck his fingerprints in there somewhere, and that as soon as Ned showed up he was going to be jumped by every law enforcement agency in D.C. and put on trial for his crimes – assuming they even used court. Technically he had already confessed and it wasn't needed, but the judicial system was humorous that way. Either way, it would end with him behind bars for a very, very long time.

Which was not part of the plan.

And Ned would be more than happy to not show up to the reunion. He would be more than happy to stay home and watch daytime television while everybody else arrived and mingled without him. He highly doubted that he would be missed, anyway; his brother probably didn't care if he attended (assuming Ned was wrong about the cops), and everybody else probably just remembered him as the poor little kid that got blown up, disabled with terrible migraines, and nearly shot in the chest by a psychopath. He hadn't even helped when the Vespers had taken the hostages. (Not that he would have been much help in the first place, but that's neither here nor there.) If Ned was totally honest with himself, even _he_ wouldn't miss _himself_ in someone else's position.

But no. He couldn't just _not show up_. He couldn't just blow everybody off. It wasn't that easy anymore. Because of Ted. Ned just _knew_ it had to be Ted's doing. Because attached to that infuriatingly colorful piece of paper was a note. A sticky note. In his brother's neat penmanship. Simply it said: _Sinead RSVP'd. I figured you'd like to know. - Ted_

Right after his name, Ted had drawn a cheerful little smiley face. Just one of the many annoying habits he had picked up during his college days after regaining his sight.

Ned could guess at what Ted wanted him to guess at: that Amy didn't know where Ned lived, so she gave the invitation to Ted to give to Ned since the President probably knew where his twin brother lived. When she gave it to him, she informed him that Sinead was coming, so he opened the letter to add the note so Ned wouldn't miss getting to see his sister for the first time in over a year.

However, Ned was not born yesterday, and could also very easily guess at what had actually happened: Ted told Amy about Ned being The Racketeer since Ted knew that the International Police Force had been out of their minds looking for him, so Amy used her Madrigal resources to stage a reunion and convinced Ted to call Sinead so Ned would be more likely to show up – and when he did, he would be caught and arrested.

… Or something along those lines. Part of him had a hard time believing Amy was the mastermind. She had the prowess for it, but not the personality. He always had admired that about her.

Ted, on the other hand...

Ned felt himself get angry again. Oooh, did his brother know how to bait! Leave it to Ted to find a way to get Ned to come out of his shell. He had been dying to see Sinead for months, and next thing you know, here she is flying across the Atlantic to spend a day with people she doesn't even like? It was a trap. No doubt about it. Ted was going to have police _somewhere_ nearby and at some point during the "reunion" (which was probably as much of a joke as his brother's lame attempt at drawing Ned to it) they were going to jump The Racketeer and put him behind bars for the rest of his life.

Sighing, Ned went over to the other side of the room and picked up his wadded up invitation. In all actuality, there was no proof that Sinead was even going to come. Given the circumstances, Ted's word didn't go as far the balled up invitation had. He was a liar. Until further notice.

But the _what if_ kept nagging at him. If Ned was wrong, and the invitation was seriously just that, and the reunion happening a week after he revealed his secret identity to Ted was just a coincidence, and his brother wasn't lying about Sinead coming... he would be throwing out an opportunity to see her. His sister. He missed her so much that, whenever he allowed himself to think about it, he felt physical pain. He had always thought people were crazy when they talked about feeling physical hurt manifest because of feelings of sadness or loss or something, but over the past few months he had actually been experiencing that himself. Maybe they weren't so crazy.

He stared almost sadly at his brightly colored invitation and the foreboding note with its mocking smiley.

To go, or not to go... that is the million-dollar question...

* * *

Having sat in his idling BMW for the last ten minutes and not seeing anything out of the ordinary, Ned was forced to admit that he had probably been acting paranoid a couple days ago when he had first read the invitation. The seafood restaurant at which the reunion was to take place was a rather small establishment known for the pier that stretched out over the water behind it. The pier itself started off as more of a patio, with a big rectangular section just outside the back door; at the back of the patio-like area, however, is when the pier started, and there was a narrow boardwalk-like stretch of planks that reached its way over the water. According to the invite, it was on the patio that the reunion was taking place.

Slowly, Ned cut the engine and slid his way out of his car, looking around some more. No police. No men on cellular phones with an abnormal fascination with everything but him. No overly curious children that needed to mind their own business. He seemed to be completely alone out in the parking lot.

He walked cautiously to the door as he attempted to decide whether the solitude was good or bad.

A cheerful brunette with extremely curly hair bounced up to him as he came through the door. She was in the khaki slacks and harbor blue polo shirt that was the uniform of the establishment. "Hello, my name is Carrie! Table for one?"

"No, I'm actually here for the reunion."

"Oh! Right this way."

She led him over to the patio door and promptly excused herself and left him alone. Which was good. Now he could do a little more reconnaissance.

The patio was full of people he recognized. Jonah Wizard stood out like a neon billboard in his dark skin and leather jacket (which he seemed to wear no matter what the temperature was like). The next man to catch Ned's attention was Hamilton Holt, but that was probably only because he was six inches taller than everybody else. Next he saw Amy Cahill and Nellie Gomez, who were talking to Hamilton. Then he saw Reagan Holt, talking to Dan Cahill; and Madison Holt, who had just went over to say hi to Jonah. And the snooty Ian Kabra, talking to... Sinead. Sinead Starling.

Ned nearly felt his heart stop. Sinead was here. She actually _had_ decided to come. Ted hadn't lied when he said she had RSVP'd.

Speaking of Ted, where was the little sneak?

Ned took a step to the left to glance around a support beam that was blocking his view and saw his brother leaning up against the railing of the patio, watching the festivities, dressed in a dark gray t-shirt and jeans, a cup in his hand that Ned had a sneaking suspicion was Cherry Coke. Ted loved Cherry Coke.

The one thing Ned didn't see, however, was a law enforcement official that didn't have Cahill blood. Everybody there was a Clue hunter. He still wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

His courage in his hand, he stepped out into the blaring sunshine.

Ted noticed him immediately and grinned, leaving his post to greet his brother. "Hey, you decided to come!"

"Yeah, hi," Ned returned. "I almost didn't, but Sinead coming and all... Couldn't resist. Have you talked to her yet?"

"Yeah. She's in a great mood."

"You didn't happen to, uh... tell her anything about our little mano a mano, did you?"

Ted took a half step closer and lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure there was nobody within earshot. "If you're implying that I might have told her that you're The Racketeer, I didn't. There's no reason to drag her into it. You did come up in the conversation, but the only thing she was asking about was where you were and if you were coming. I told her I didn't know because you hadn't RSVP'd. That's it, I swear."

"Good." Ned looked his brother in the eye. "You been thinking about what you're going to say in your resignation speech?"

Ted's smile tightened slightly. "Is that a joke?"

Ned considered the question a moment. "Yeah, I suppose it was." He promptly walked off, eager to talk to Sinead.

Ned stepped up behind his sister stealthily and quickly put his hands over her eyes.

She stiffened. "Hello?" Her voice had acquired a light French accent in her last couple years abroad.

"Hello, this is the Joker," he replied in his perfect imitation of the Joker's voice. "I just escaped Batman's clutches and I need a journalist to help me write my memoirs. You didn't look like you were doing anything important, so I just thought I'd come over here and say hi. _Hi_."

Sinead had gasped right after he introduced himself as the Joker. There was only one man on the planet who could do the Joker's voice so well... and think it funny to sneak up on somebody and do an imitation of it. She whirled around and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh my gosh! Ned, it's so great to see you!"

He wrapped his arms around her, trying to keep a goofy grin from stretching across his face. "It's great to see you, too, Sinead. I've been missing you. How's Paris?"

"French, romantic." She pulled away a bit to look into her brother's face. "How are you doing?"

"Quite well, I'd say. And how are you?"

"I'll be much better once I get my article done for this month. Did Ted tell you?"

Ned frowned, suddenly on high alert. "I suppose that depends on what you're talking about."

"I need a super awesome topic for my column, but I haven't been able to find one. None of them are interesting enough. I wanted something with pizazz, you know? So I was talking to Ted, and he said that you were still working at that laboratory, and they're doing nanotechnology research to make nanodoctors, and that if I asked you really, really nicely that you might let me interview you concerning it. I just _know_ my readers will love reading about a topic like nanotechnology. So... can I ask you some questions? Please?"

"Sure, I don't mind. What do you want to know?"

"Yay!" Sinead cheered, reaching into her shoulder bag to pull out an electronic recorder. "Let's go sit at a table, and I'll ask you some of the questions I prepared."

* * *

Amy sidled up to stand next to Ted, who had reclaimed his position against the railing. "How was Ned?"

"Warmer than I thought he would be, given the circumstances." Ted took a sip from his glass. "But my hopes weren't very high, either. I don't think he really cared to see me."

"Well, he came here to see Sinead, so I can't imagine he would want to stick around and talk to anybody but her for very long."

"Then why do I have the most indistinct feeling that he hates me?"

"He doesn't hate you, Ted, I'm sure of it. I think he's operating on the idea that just because you guys are on neutral territory right now doesn't mean that there's nothing between you. He can't take back what he did, even for a day, just as you can't."

Ted blinked and glanced at the Interpol agent. "And what did I do, exactly?"

Amy frowned, obviously not liking his tone. "I've been thinking a lot about what you told me, about how Ned mentioned you betrayed him in college. I'm not saying you did anything wrong, but what I _am_ saying is... Well, if Ned feels betrayed over something you've said or done, whether you meant it to be hurtful or if you were even in the wrong, he feels betrayed over it. You can't tell someone how to feel, you know?"

Slowly, Ted nodded. "Yeah, I understand that. But what I _don't_ understand is what I could have done that he would have taken the wrong way. He was usually very supportive of whatever it was I was doing. He never alluded to the fact that he might be hurt by something."

"He's got a lot of pride in him. If you were half as proud as he is, would you have admitted that you were torn up about something? Especially if you thought it was stupid and pointless?"

He offered Amy a wan smile. "Valid point. But it makes me feel bad about what we're about to do, since, basically put, it's all my fault he became a criminal in the first place."

"He chose his own path," she reassured quietly, resting her hand on his shoulder.

Ted stared sadly down into his Cherry Coke, unsure of how to reply.

A beep in their ears startled them both.

_"Can you believe this?" _came Ian's irritated voice through the earpieces they were wearing. _"Ned just waltzed right over and stole Sinead from me! We were having a delightful conversation about designer Parisian fabrics, and he just made his way over here and took her! As if she wasn't already talking to somebody else! The nerve. Ted, th__at__ brother of yours is a real piece of art, did you know?"_

Ted and Amy shared a glance. He reached up and turned on his earpiece. "I'm not quite sure how to respond to that, Ian."

_"Then don't. I'm going to go find a waitress. I don't know who ordered these hors d'oeuvres, but they have no taste –__ the person and the hors d'oeuvres both__. But fear not, I will have it straightened out momentarily."_

From the other side of the deck, they watched the Briton walk back into the restaurant.

Ted turned to Amy. "Didn't _you_ order those hors d'oeuvres?"

All Amy did was sigh and shake her head exasperatedly, but it was answer enough. And for the first time all morning, Ted smiled a genuine smile.

* * *

Sinead, beaming like a thousand shining stars, tucked her digital recorder back into her purse. "Thank you SO much, Ned! I owe you one. Seriously."

Ned smiled, glad to see his sister so happy. "It was no trouble, Sinead, really. I love science, and it _did_ give me a reason to talk to you for pretty much the whole reunion. I think I should be thanking _you_... and nanotechnology, of course. Must give credit where credit is due."

Sinead laughed. "I suppose so." She glanced out at the water, watching the little waves disappear and reappear over the bay. "Ted said you got him a tie with a gecko printed on it."

Ned smiled, remembering the trip. He had picked it up when he went to Florida back in January. "Yeah, when I saw it I couldn't resist. I knew he'd probably never wear it; I got it as more of a gag gift."

Sinead grinned. "You always buy gag gifts."

"'Cause gag gifts are the best kind. He's just lucky I didn't get him a pair of underwear decorated with little poodles."

They shared a laugh.

"So, what have you been doing lately, other than submerging yourself in the exciting world of nanotechnology and buying gag gift ties for the President? Anything exciting?"

Ned slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "No, not really. I've been doing a couple little things here and there. Some travel. Some TV-watching. Other than that, though, I've just been kinda takin' things as they come."

Sinead smiled. "I admire that about you, Ned. You just take things one day at a time, not burdening yourself with schedules and plans. Just going with the flow. It sounds like a nice way to live. I wish I was like that sometimes."

"It's not always rainbows and roses, but once you learn how to make it work for you, it's fine. Handy, even." Ned nodded as if to emphasize his point.

She nodded her agreement. "I know, but you know me. I'm a planner. I like to know exactly what I'm doing."

"That sounds like a pain," he replied with a grin.

"Sometimes it is," Sinead admitted with a giggle. "Especially when you don't have time to make a plan before jumping into something head first."

"Well, at least you know how to make a plan," Ned said. "I find that, if I try to make one, I end up either talking myself out of it before it's finished, or not sticking to it once it is. Kinda pathetic, really, if you want to get to the meat and potatoes of it."

"Yeah, but you're so naturally gifted with improvising, I don't know why you would ever want to waste time making a plan."

Ned hummed in thought. "Good point."

He glanced behind him, and ended up catching his brother's eyes. Ted was leaning in, talking to Hamilton about something, sneaking glances at Ned. When their eyes met, Ted smiled and waved in greeting. Ned nodded his head in return, feeling his stomach turn over. He had a bad feeling about whatever it was they were discussing. He turned back around to look at Sinead. "Speaking of improvising, I think it's about time I hit the road. But how about I email you once I get home? To catch up?"

Sinead smiled at him, but the look had changed. She sensed something was wrong, but was politely choosing to not ask about it. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot."

"Cool." He gave her a hug. "See you around."

He stepped away, and tried to make it look like he wasn't about to leave. He stopped a waiter and asked for directions to the bathroom, knowing the gesticulations would throw the dogs off his scent. Maneuvering closer to the restaurant entrance, he stopped near the buffet table and grabbed what looked like crab ragoon, although he couldn't be certain without tasting it – which he didn't plan on doing, because he hated seafood. He made his move for the door, as if he was simply headed for the bathroom, when-

"Hi, Ned! How's it going, man?"

The Racketeer turned to see Dan Cahill grinning at him.

"Oh, hey. Dan, right?"

"Yeah. Long time no see! I don't think I've actually talked to you since the hospital room in Switzerland after you got your head operated on."

Ned chuckled. "You make it sound like I was getting a brain scan."

"Well, you _do_ seem kinda crazy, but you know what I meant."

Frowning, Ned replied, "I'm starting to wonder if I do."

Dan grinned wider, oblivious to the change in Ned's attitude. "I'm sure you do. You're pretty smart."

Ned blinked. "Yes." He glanced at the door. He needed to move. Dan was making him nervous. "I was just on my way to the bathroom, so how about we continue this in five? I've just spent almost two hours talking to Sinead and drinking Dr. Pepper, so as you can imagine..." He sidled closer to the door.

"Oh, yeah, I understand. This one time, I drank an entire two-liter of Mountain Dew and had a burping contest with myself. You know, where you try to make every burp better than the last one? And I was doing really good there for a while, but then I started running out of carbonated power, if you know what I mean, so I went into the kitchen-"

"Dan, seriously," Ned insisted, not wanted to cut him off for fear of looking suspicious but feeling he had no choice. "I gotta go."

Dan frowned. "Okay, go."

Ned studied the younger man's face for a few moments before nodding slowly. "Thank you."

As he turned and took a couple steps further away, he barely heard Dan whisper: "I think he's making a break for it."

Ned froze, one hand on the door handle. Slowly, steadily, he turned around to face Dan, who, upon meeting the Starling's gaze, looked like a deer in the headlights of a pickup truck. The atmosphere was frozen in that one moment for what seemed like a long, long time. Ned's gaze sharpened. "Well," he said, calmly, quietly, "I wasn't going to, but after that..."

Time shot into fast forward.

Dan raced ahead, thinking Ned would try to escape through the dining room since he was already at the door, but Ned expected that and dodged left. He moved forward with the agility of a rabbit, managing to twist his arm away as Madison made a grab for it. He slipped away to the right, where Amy and Reagan attempted to converge on him.

Feinting right, he tricked Reagan into launching herself into an expert tackle to try to take him down; but at the last second, he shot to the left and jumped onto one of the tables, where he promptly threw his crab ragoon at Amy – it bounced harmlessly off her forehead, but it caught her off guard long enough for him to hurriedly jump down off the other side of the table and run away as fast as he could.

Ted and Hamilton ran after him, weaving between tables and chairs and reunion attenders to catch up to the escapee.

When Ted saw Ned's goal, he picked up the pace and shot after his brother, panic giving him the superhuman ability to outrun Hamilton.

Ned took off down the pier, his eyes locked on the railing and the blue water beyond. A jump was all it would take to get away, because once he was in the bay he could go next to anywhere and nobody would be able to find him in time to stop him.

Only ten feet until he reached the perfect launch point.

He heard Ted's pounding footsteps reverberating through the wooden planks of the boardwalk, but it didn't matter. Ned had a head start. He wouldn't be able to catch up in time.

Five feet until he reached the jump zone.

Four feet.

Three...

Ned gasped.

Before he even understood what was happening, he was on the ground. His arm stung as it hit the unforgiving wood. His brother was on top of him, holding him in place. They were both panting hard from the exertion. Ned twisted just enough to be able to see the water through the slats in the boardwalk railing, but he couldn't get free. After a few more tries, he gave up, breathing hard.

Ted was still panting, but finally he caught his breath enough to say: "Ned Starling, you're under arrest."


	4. Delta

_For **my parents**, who fed my love of reading (and writing) from a young age._

* * *

**Delta | by Breanne Nedra | March 14th, 2014**

The tapping of the rubber soles on his brother's shoes on the bare concrete floors caused Ned Starling to look up from his position seated on a (surprisingly comfortable) mattress inside a tiny jail cell located beneath the White House. After getting tackled by his brother on the boardwalk, Hamilton had cuffed him and stuffed him into the back of Ted's black Mercedes to be transported to the White House to be put inside the special cell block that Ted had had built almost immediately after getting sworn in. Ned remembered reading the story in the newspaper a few months before about it finally getting completed after nearly a year of construction. Now he was getting to see it firsthand. Despite the circumstances, he felt a little enthusiastic.

The place was not very nicely decorated, with stark gray concrete walls, and not very private considering one whole wall to his left was nothing but steel bars. A sink and a toilet, which thankfully looked clean, were in the far corner, but Ned hoped he wouldn't be there long enough to have to use them. There was also the mattress on which he was sitting, which was resting on a steel bed frame. Other than that, however, the room was devoid of furnishings. It was a rather sad sight.

Ted appeared behind the wall of bars, blue eyes shining almost teasingly. "What's up, doc?"

Ned raised an eyebrow at his brother. "So now I'm a doctor? Or are you just in the mood to do your Bugs Bunny impression? Because if it's the second one, you forgot your carrot."

Ted ignored him. "I thought you'd be happy to know that I've been thinking about what to say in my speech."

"Speech," Ned echoed. "Not _resignation_ speech, obviously."

"Oh, no, of course not." Ted smiled. "The speech I'm going to give at the press conference to tell them that The Racketeer has finally been arrested."

"Mm-hmm." Ned shook his head, leaning on his elbows, which he had been resting on his knees. He stared peacefully at the ground, unconcerned.

"Don't sound so apathetic, Ned. You do realize what's going to happen now, don't you? Once I tell everybody that you've been captured, they're going to want you thrown in jail. And you know what? I may just let them choose to do so. Let the _people_ decide your fate, since they're the ones you ripped off. And honestly, I don't see them being incredibly merciful."

Coming at a great surprised to Ted, his brother actually chuckled. "Yeah, but I know you, Teddy. You're not giving them a say in what happens to me to be a good President that 'listens to the people' – you're doing it because you're too afraid to throw the book at me yourself." He gazed at his brother calmly. "You know that as well as I do, and your giving America a vote just proves that you need to feel like you're doing the right thing so you don't feel so bad about betraying your brother."

"You betrayed me first, Ned," Ted replied curtly, crossing his arms. "The second you became The Racketeer."

"Yeah, well, you know how things go," Ned said, practically brushing the comment aside. "But I'm sorry to say that if you were coming here in the hopes that I would cry and apologize and beg for my freedom, you're going to be sadly disappointed. I know what I did, and I know what I deserve; and even if I didn't, I have some dignity left, and let me be the first to say I'd like to keep it."

"I was hoping you'd show a little remorse," Ted admitted. "But I see that may have been too much to expect. The real reason I came down here, however, was not only to tell you what was going to happen from here, but to ask you what you did with all money you stole."

"I didn't _steal_ it," Ned replied, almost seeming offended. "Most of them _gave_ it to me."

"They didn't know they were being robbed."

"'Robbed' is an ugly word. I wouldn't use it. I'd use something more eloquent, like 'exhorted.'"

"How is that better?" Ted asked, confused.

"I didn't say it was better, I said it was prettier."

Ted sighed, getting irritated. "Ned, where'd you put the money?"

Chuckling once again, Ned asked, "Why should I tell you?"

"Because I can give you a Presidential pardon," Ted replied at once, "shortening your sentence or even having it disappear completely. Nobody would have to find out you're The Racketeer. Everything could go back to the way it was."

Ned smiled, looking amused at the whole scenario. "Ted, every Clue hunter saw me get arrested, including Sinead. How do you think they took it? I had to be somebody pretty bad, or nobody would have put that much effort into trying to bring me down. _Nothing_ can go back to the way it was. Not now. You know as well as I do that things don't work that way. Once something happens, it stays with you. Forever. It doesn't matter if it's good or bad or otherwise. Things change you. Sometimes the bad things seem good if you think about them long enough, and vice versa, but one thing you can always count on is the change. You always walk away different. You, the people around you, even your relationships are different than they once were, all because of one little experience that twisted your view of the world ever so slightly. And suddenly, everything is different and you find yourself lost. So don't go feeding me this garbage about us being the same if I give up what I know, because you and I both know you'll look at me and see a criminal for the rest of our lives. And who knows? Maybe you'll begin to look at _you_ and see a criminal, too." The Cheshire Cat grin, the same one he'd had less than a week ago as he'd pulled the pistol on his brother, came back, unreadable and evil. "So spare me the theatricals. I know how it will go."

Ted wanned a little, and when he spoke, he was obviously trying to make his voice stronger than it felt: "It's not like that, Ned."

His brother chuckled humorlessly. "Don't be so histrionic; you know it is."

"So I take it you won't tell me where the money is?"

Ned sighed like it was a big hassle. "Fine, yes, I will." He looked Ted dead in the eyes. "I spent it."

"You couldn't have spent that much money."

"Ted, I am driving a BMW convertible with the chrome upgrade package and leather seats. I think I could have." He laid down on the bed, putting his hands behind his head. After about a minute, he glanced up at his brother. "Are we done here?"

Ted pressed his lips together before replying, "Yeah... I guess we are."

* * *

When he stepped into the Oval Office, Ted was met with a depressing sight.

The room was full of the reunion attenders, having been promised a full explanation from Ted himself. Sinead was sitting on the same couch Ned had been just a few days before, crying her eyes out on Amy's shoulder. Jonah was messing with the Newton's cradle on Ted's desk, the one Sinead had given him for his birthday when they were in elementary school. Nellie was next to his stereo, going through his CD collection and making quiet comments to herself about every single one of them (which Ted privately found impressive). The people who had been in on the plan all along didn't look nearly as bad as the ones that hadn't. They were simply milling around, waiting for the President to get back so they could all be debriefed and ultimately get to go home and get some well-deserved rest.

Ted didn't like raising his voice. Not at all. But he did in order to get everybody's attention.

Sinead started firing questions at him almost immediately.

"What did you do to Ned?!" she cried. "Why did you lock him up? What did he do?"

Ted put his finger up to his lips for a second, signaling for her to be quiet while he contemplated how to break the news to everyone. While The Racketeer's identity had been secret, The Racketeer himself had not been. Everybody knew of him and what he had been doing for the past nine months, so dropping the bomb that when Ned lost his mind he didn't just burgle a couple convenience stores was going to be a delicate process. He had to be blunt, but not so blunt that Sinead fainted from the shock.

Inwardly, he wondered if that was even possible.

Finally, he opted to just get it over with. In truth, the worst that could happen was that they would need to once again fix the window Ned broke. That wasn't very high up on Ted's current list of concerns. "Has everybody heard about the internationally known criminal called The Racketeer?" He could tell everybody was already beginning to figure out where he was going with the question, even as they nodded their confirmation. "Let's just say that my brother has very close dealings with that criminal. So close, in fact... it's like they're the same person."

Sinead's jaw dropped.

"Yo," Jonah cut in, "are you sayin' that your brother's The Racketeer?"

Ted wanted to go into how he technically didn't have any proof other than Ned's word, but knowing Ned, the chances of him not being The Racketeer were slim to none. But that would just bring him back to the same answer as before, and it was mostly just going to be wasting time. Ted adjusted the hem of his t-shirt nervously. "He told me himself that he is."

Dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, Sinead asked, "When did he tell you that?"

He didn't look at her. He couldn't. "Monday."

"You called me on Tuesday," Sinead half-whispered, realization dawning.

"Sinead, I-"

"You _knew_ when you called me!"

"I couldn't tell you becau-"

"You called me all the way over here from _France_, just so you could arrest Ned – and then you didn't even tell me that you were planning on doing it!"

"We had to make it look believable. If you knew, Ned might have realized something was up. It was better that you didn't know. That _all_ of you didn't know. It made it less-..." The word _ugly_ died on his lips. It hadn't been less ugly. Not even a little bit. He amended quickly, "It _would_ have been less ugly. But he figured it out too soon."

"I wish I would have figured it out!" Sinead looked utterly betrayed, hurt, all the things Ted had been trying to avoid. But what could he have done? He had known this would happen all along, and there was nothing he could have done about it. Not one thing. "If I had known about it, I never would have come to your _stupid_ sham of a reunion! You should be ashamed of yourself, Ted!"

"For doing my job?" he said quietly. "Without you, we never would have caught him. Sinead, he's stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars, nearing the millions. Are you saying you would like him to get away with that?"

"I'm saying I think you're a liar! I'm saying he's innocent! I'm saying that you just arrested your twin brother and seem to be feeling _nothing_! That's appalling, Ted. _Appalling_."

"So now you're scared of me?"

"You're just like every other politician." Sinead started toward him, since he hadn't moved from his position inside the doorway, and all she wanted at that moment was to be as far away from her brother as possible. If it meant passing him, so be it. "All you're interested in is saving your own skin. You don't care about anybody else. I thought that you of all people wouldn't get caught up in that political game, but I guess it's true what they say that even if you walk into politics clean, you walk out corrupted."

Ted grabbed his sister's wrists as she went to brush by. "Listen to me for a second."

"Let go of me!" she shouted, attempting to wrench her arms from his grasp.

Ted held fast, and after she lost enough strength that her jerks became weaker, he pulled her into a tight hug. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear. "I'm so, so sorry. You know I wouldn't have done this if I didn't feel it was right. I want with all my heart to believe it wasn't Ned, too. But I can't. I have to face facts. And I don't expect you to do the same, but you can't hate me for doing what needed to be done." He pulled back a little to look into his sister's tearful baby blue eyes. "I just lost my brother, Sinead. I can't lose you, too."

It took a minute for his words to sink in, but when they did, Sinead burst into crying again, sobbing on her brother's shoulder, soaking it into a darker shade of gray like some bit of mocking symbolism. Ted rubbed her back, smoothed her hair, shushed her gently, but he knew it was hopeless. He felt like crying himself.

The others watched the scene sadly, some of them wiping at their eyes.

_ If only Ned could see this..._

* * *

Ned was bored.

He should have expected as much, and in a way, he did. It wasn't likely that his brother would have enough mercy on him to give him a magazine or something, and if he were totally honest with himself, Ned knew he probably wouldn't have taken Ted up on it if he had. It was a pride thing. Stupid, maybe, and completely pointless, but pride was pride, and Ned didn't care enough to swallow it.

In fact, the actual _boredom_ wasn't that bad. Being bored every now and then was healthy, he was sure of it. No, the real problem was his _lovely_ prison guard leaning on the wall opposite from his cell, who had taken it upon herself to torture him into insanity. He thought about demanding solitary.

She was a pretty woman in her late twenties or early thirties, with jet black hair tied back into a neat ponytail and grassy green eyes. Her attire was plain; Ned recognized it as the uniform of the White House security, the people who made sure that everybody who was in the House was supposed to be there. All in all, she wasn't bad to look at.

It was the _scratching_ that made the whole thing so unbearable.

About ten minutes ago, she had decided to start filing her nails, and Ned was about to go crazy with every _skrit-skrat_ of the file. If he could have, he would have walked through the bars, plucked it from her grasp, burned it, and walked back into his cell. He really didn't mind the waiting. It was the filing. It had to stop.

"So..." he started. "What's your name?"

The woman hesitated, no doubt told that she wasn't allowed to talk to him. He stifled a smirk. Ah, Ted. Leave it to him to think of everything.

… Well, _almost_ everything.

The guard must have decided that answering his little question wouldn't cause any harm, because she replied, "Melinda."

He smiled. "I'm Ned," he said, even though he knew it was dumb. She already knew that. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah," she grunted, going back to her filing.

"You're a very pretty woman," he commented.

She glanced up at him.

"Really," he insisted.

Uncertainly, she said, "Thank you."

"If you don't mind my asking," Ned started, wanting to keep the ball rolling, "what made you want to get a job like this?"

"I didn't always want one," she replied curtly.

"Then why did you get it?"

"That's... a long story."

Ned motioned to his surroundings. "Does it look like I have time? Because I feel like I do."

Melinda couldn't help but smile a bit. "When I was eight, my mother taught me to paint. We always did it together. It was our special mother-daughter thing. I told her multiple times that I wanted to be an artist, and I still do. Want to be an artist, I mean.

"When I was fourteen, she died in a car crash. After that, I threw out all my paints, vowing to never paint again, because she wasn't there to paint with me. I kept that vow for a long time. Recently I bought some new paints, but I haven't had the courage to open them yet."

"Why not? You sound like you must be a great painter."

"I _was_ a great painter, but I haven't picked up a brush in years. I'm probably no good anymore."

"Aw, come on," Ned said quietly, smiling, "painting is just like riding a bike: you don't forget, you just get rusty. I bet if you opened up those paints, you'd be amazed at how much raw talent you still have."

"But I still couldn't be an artist. I buried my dream with my mother."

"Which is the wrong way to honor her," Ned replied firmly, standing and walking over to his wall of bars. "Your mother wouldn't have wanted for you to give up everything you ever wanted just because she wasn't physically here to do it with you. I bet she was more proud of you the moment you bought those paints than she'd been in years. And I don't think she'd be happy that you're afraid. If you want to be an artist, you have to be willing to try. You're young. You've got plenty of time to live out your dream."

"But what if I mess up all my pictures? No one will buy a messed up painting."

"Wasn't it Bob Ross that said it's impossible to mess up an original work of art? If you can manage to prove him wrong, I'll stop believing in you, but until then, I think you should try. What's the worst that could happen? You'll have to keep working here?" Ned gazed around. "I hate to burst your worst case scenario bubble, but that will happen whether you open those paints or return them."

Melinda bit her lip, unsure. "And... you really think I could still become an artist?"

"If there's one thing that never goes out of fashion, it's art. There's always people out there willing to buy it."

For the first time, Ned saw a genuine smile sweep over her features. She was much prettier when she smiled. "Thank you, Ned," she said, pumping her words with as much gratitude as they could hold. "I think I will open those paints – tonight. I could never thank you enough."

Ned smiled back, and realized he couldn't remember the last time he had selflessly helped somebody. Assuming he had ever done that. He leaned his back against the bars, letting the coolness soothe his aches from body slamming the boardwalk. It felt good. "Just remember us little guys when you're painting pictures for the Prime Minister."

She smiled at that comment. "So what about you?"

"I've never picked up a paint brush in my life."

"No, I mean... what do you do for a living?"

"Me?" He seemed surprised. "I work at a reputable laboratory just outside of D.C. It's a nice place. Currently, I'm heading their research in nanotechnology, and tomorrow I'm actually going to be giving a speech about it."

"Working at a big, fancy laboratory?" She stepped up to the bars and leaned against them as well. "Was that your dream growing up?"

"Well... kinda," he admitted. "We – the President and I – had wanted to open up our own lab. We had promised each other that we would. It was going to be a place to raise young scientists that learned to venture out from common belief to make history, but it would also be a place that broke records and invented things to make everyone's lives better. We were going to have the only lab that did it all. It was going to be amazing." He sighed softly. "But then Ted decided to go into politics, and our sister moved across the pond, and I... I tried to keep our dream alive and start the lab anyway, but without Ted, even doing something small like looking for the perfect location to build it seemed wrong. So instead I settled for second best: becoming a top scientist at a well-known lab _near_ my brother, even if I couldn't be with him." He cast a sideways glance at Melinda. "So far, it's been nice enough."

The guard thought about that for a minute. "If you like it, then why did you become The Racketeer? Were you short on money?"

Ned couldn't help but chuckle at that. "You political types are so funny. You know, not everything is about money. Sometimes, things go a bit deeper than that."

And he smiled.

* * *

Ted was going through the paperwork on his desk. One thing people never seemed to understand about arresting criminals was the overabundance of paperwork that came with jailing one. He was just lucky that Ned had confessed and they wouldn't have to go to court – that would've just caused more paperwork.

And heartache, but Ted pushed this thought out of his mind.

After Sinead finally calmed down a few minutes after the news was broken, everybody from the reunion had left in a steady trickle. No one wanted to be around for anything that might happen next, and Ted could respect that. Only he, Sinead, the Cahills, Ian, and the Holts remained in the Oval Office, and the President was thankful for the quiet.

Sinead gazed out the window, the same one Ned had broken just days earlier. She still sniffed here and there. Ted wanted more than anything to say something comforting, but he couldn't find anything. She probably didn't want to be comforted just yet, anyway. This was one of those moments where she just needed to let a few tears fall before accepting what was. When that grief came, then she would be ready for comfort, and Ted promised himself he'd be there for her.

After close to ten minutes of silence from everybody in the room, Sinead suddenly asked, "Can I talk to Ned?"

You probably don't want to – that was Ted's first response idea. Thankfully, he caught himself before he said it. True, he figured it would probably be better all-around if Sinead _didn't_ go to see Ned, but he really couldn't keep her from going. Who could say, she might be able to talk some sense into him. That thought calmed him some, and gave him a better idea for a response: "If you insist."

She gave him a small smile and made her way to the door. Ted stood to follow when he saw Hamilton reach up and turn on his earpiece.

Ted paused, motioning for Sinead to wait, looking at the younger man expectantly.

Hamilton frowned deeply, switched his earpiece off, swallowed like he had a tennis ball stuck in his throat, and said, "You... can't see Ned right now."

Ted's blood ran cold. Sinead demanded, "Why?"

Cringing, Hamilton muttered, "Ned... escaped."

* * *

Ted's feet pounded down the stairs toward the prison block level. When he got there, three Secret Service agents were already there, milling about, awaiting orders.

The first thing he noticed was the cell: door standing wide open, void of prisoners, with only furniture in there to mock him. The second thing was Melinda, the guard in charge of making sure Ned couldn't get out, sitting on a wooden chair, holding an icepack to her forehead.

He walked over and knelt beside the agent. "Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. President," she said softly instead of answering. "We got to talking, even though you said I shouldn't talk to him, and... I got too close to the door. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and yanked me forward so I hit my head on the bars. He knocked me out long enough to unlock the door and get away." She removed the icepack from her head, revealing an nasty bruise above her right eye. Tearfully, she murmured, "I give myself up for disciplinary action."

Ted pursed his lips. Ned was so smooth when it came to girls. Always had been, ever since high school. He made a mental note not to give him any more female guards if – and when – they ever caught him again. "I can't say what happened here is okay, as I'm sure you'll understand," he murmured. "But what I can say is that I accept your apology, you are forgiven, and that I think you have learned your lesson – the discipline won't be necessary." He gave her a gentle, calming smile. "Instead, I want you to take tomorrow and the rest of today off and rest up. I want you in top shape for Monday. Got it?"

Smiling in relief, she nodded. "You got it, Mr. President." She placed the icepack back on her head.

Ted smiled in the same way a father might smile at a child and patted her shoulder as he rose back to his full height. He glanced around, putting the pieces together in his head: Ned somehow led Melinda closer to the cell door, knocked her out and fished her keys out of her pocket. He then unlocked the door and walked out... but what did he do with the keys?

Standing a short distance away, Ted noticed Joseph, the red-haired Secret Service agent who had spoken to Ned the day he had come to tell his brother he was The Racketeer. He called out, "Joseph, did you happen to find the keys to the cell anywhere?"

Joseph raised his hand, one finger outstretched. Hanging from that finger was the cell block keyring with its many keys. "We found them discarded at the base of the stairs, Mr. President. We think Ned might have thrown them over his shoulder as he walked up."

"That sounds like my brother," Ted replied.

"Oh, Mr. President?" He turned back to look at Melinda. "I forgot to tell you, Ned took my lipstick."

"Your... lipstick?" Ted began to wonder if he had spaced and missed something important.

"Yes. I always keep it in this pocket, but it's not there. He must have taken it when he took the keys."

"What would he need lipstick for?" Hamilton wondered aloud.

"Do you think he dressed up like a girl?" Dan snickered. "You guys have done it before."

To everyone's surprise (and secret amusement), Ted turned pink at the comment. "I, uh, doubt it."

"Uh... guys? I found the lipstick..."

Ted turned. Amy was standing in the cell. In her hand she held a silvery-gold plastic tube, undoubtedly a cosmetic item of some sort. But she wasn't looking at it, or him, or anyone – she was staring at the wall.

He joined her, and immediately saw the writing on the wall.

No, really. There was writing. On the wall. In lipstick.

The message was simple but portentous, done in Ned's handwriting: _Nice try. Your two weeks are up._

"What does he mean by that?" Reagan asked, standing in the doorway.

Ill at ease, Ted turned to face the questioning stares. "I'm sorry," he began, "I should have told you. I was hoping it wouldn't come to this. When Ned told me he was The Racketeer, he gave me two weeks to resign or he was going to, as he put it, 'ruin' me. I don't know what he meant by that; I'm guessing he's going to do something to get me impeached. Either way... what he meant by that message was, even though I technically still have a week of 'thinking' time, he's done. By attempting to arrest him, I made my choice. So now he's going to do something terrible to see if he can make anyone hate me."

"Should we double up your security?" Hamilton asked.

"No. We can't let him get that far. We need to bring him down, and we need to do it yesterday!"

"Yo, Prez, we only arrested him this morning!" Madison argued.

"It's... a figure of speech."

Melinda stood up, a tad shaky. "I don't know if you know this, but Ned mentioned he's going to be giving a speech about nanotechnology tomorrow. I don't know where, or when, but you might be able to pick him up there."

If the whole thing had been a cartoon, a light bulb would have appeared over Ted's head. "Of course! He told me about that!" He grinned at Melinda – not his President Starling smile, but a genuine Ted Starling grin. "Thanks for reminding me."

She seemed to be caught off guard, but smiled back all the same. "You're welcome."

"Put your thinking caps on, everyone – we're visiting a science center tomorrow!"

He ignored the groans that erupted from most of the group.


	5. Echo

_To **the Schwartz ****family**._

_I hope you guys are enjoying Virginia! I miss you a lot. (:_

* * *

**Echo | by Breanne Nedra | March 22nd, 2014**

Ted adjusted his position in the auditorium chair, checking his watch. Only ten minutes until the presentation was supposed to start. He ran through the plan again, quickly and efficiently. It was understandable that he was nervous. They had spent the rest of yesterday making a plan for what was going to go down around the time of the lecture, but once again they had been forced to recognize that they couldn't account for everything and would have to play it by ear. Ted tried not to remember how it played out last time – he had a feeling he would lose his nerve.

But he still couldn't deny that there were far too many things that could go wrong. What if Ned noticed any of them in the crowd, for instance, and attempted to leave? They would never catch him. Ted himself was on the balcony, along with Madison and Reagan and Dan. Amy, Hamilton and Ian were below him on the ground floor since they were the fastest runners, but that didn't mean that they'd be able to catch Ned if he broke into a sprint. He knew the halls better. If it was a battle of navigation, he would surely emerge the victor.

The lights dimmed and a spotlight cast its harsh glow on the stage. A young man, probably no older than his early twenties, stepped up to the podium, smiling like an actor for a photo shoot.

"Hello, everyone, and thank you for coming out here today! I'm Dr. Ricky Peterson, but you haven't come here to see me. It is my great privilege to announce the man you did come here to see, someone who is beyond ingenious and is a great inspiration to us all, my own role model, Ned Starling!" Clapping rang out as Ned stepped from behind the curtain at the back of the stage, waving and nodding at the crowd his greetings. "He will be giving a presentation about the advancements in nanotechnology and its uses in modern medicine. He's heading this project, so you will be getting your information straight from the source. As is customary, please be respectful and turn off cellphones, pagers, and any other piece of noise-making communicational technology, and save any questions you may have for the end of the lecture. Thank you!" Dr. Peterson stepped away from the podium, allowing Ned to take his place, and quickly hustled off the stage.

Smiling, Ned took the microphone off its stand on the podium and held it up to his mouth as the second round of clapping died. "I don't see how people can stand at a podium to talk into a microphone. It gives me a kink in my neck." It was obviously meant to be funny, and a couple laughs rang out. "As Ricky said, I am Dr. Ned Starling, and I'm heading the nanotechnology devision of USA Labs. I'm really excited for this lecture, because it is such an amazing topic to talk about, and I, personally, never get tired of hearing about all the possibilities that nanotechnology gives to the doctors and hospitals around the world to help fight diseases and such."

He started pacing a bit. Ted recognized it as his brother's old habit from when they were kids that always helped him think. "Before we start, I would like to tell you a bit about myself. I'd like to start off by addressing some of the weird stares I'm getting, and I'm sorry to tell you that, no, I am not the President of the United States. The President, believe me or not, is actually my twin brother, Ted. I'm very sorry to say that you're not getting a lecture by the President today, but, hey, the end of his term is coming – I guess we'll see, right?" More laughing came from the crowd.

"I've had quite a few scientific achievements in my time, such as helping to cure both certain types of blindness as well as frequent migraines. I've invented multiple types of aircraft, such as the ultralight, which was sold to the Air Force for them to use in rescue missions in areas where there isn't much space to land. All that said, you guys might recognize both my and my brother's names from over twenty years ago when we were mere teenagers, and inventing all kinds of interesting and helpful items that we ultimately ended up selling for one reason or another. And now I get to share with you a little from my world, my current position in the realm of science and one of my personal favorite topics since I was twelve: nanotechnology."

Ned turned, pointing to an enormous projector screen that hung far above his head. "If you'll please crane your necks to look at this outrageously huge screen" – more chuckles from the crowd – "I had one of my assistants whip up a couple visual slides for us, so if we could just get the first one on the screen..."

An animated picture of a metal ball appeared. At first it was completely opaque, but quickly the sides turned translucent, giving the viewer a picture of the inside of the robot. Even Ted was impressed.

"As I'm sure you are all aware, nanorobotics have been on the table for quite some time, and their potential applications in medicine have been there nearly as long. The idea is relatively simple: use the nanorobots to perform certain tasks at a cellular level, something any good doctor would love to be able to do. It would help many people by cutting the risk for improper drug delivery, and possibly even take away the need for the more harmful treatments of certain illnesses. Could you imagine the celebration that would come with getting rid of chemotherapy for good? I don't know about you, but to me, that sounds like a pretty sweet deal.

"Now, because we don't want our little future doctors to feel left out, I've been calling the nanorobots that we've been designing for use in the medical world 'nanodoctors'..."

Ted was starting to get antsy. Ned seemed oblivious to their being in the crowd, but he also knew that his brother was a fantastic actor. There was no telling if he had seen them, or if he was simply ignoring them and focusing on his explanation of why he insists on making up his own terms for his projects.

Part of him wanted to get up, maybe wait in the hallway, but he couldn't risk it. Sure, he wasn't the first line of defense – that's why he was in the cheap seats – but that didn't mean he wanted to miss anything important. If his brother ended up needing to get arrested in front of all these people... the least Ted could do was be there to take the fall for it.

But, really, he didn't want to think about it. Arresting his brother here would mean the end of Ned's career; and as bad as he was, even he didn't deserve that.

Ted's mind drifted back to what Amy had said at the reunion. She had basically been saying that the whole thing could easily have been his fault, if Ned was telling the truth about why he had become The Racketeer. Ted had combed his memories a couple times since that conversation, and he went through them once again while Ned explained how the nanodoctors worked, but once again he turned up nothing. What could have made his brother so mad? Upset? Betrayed? The only thing he could think of was when he had decided to switch his major from chemical engineering to political science. And when he had broken the news to Sinead and Ned that he was planning on doing so, they congratulated him and said he would be the greatest Senator, Governor, maybe even President America ever knew. Could Ned really have faked that happiness he had felt for his brother? It didn't seem possible. Even Ned couldn't be that good... could he?

Ted was jolted back into reality as Ned launched into the next topic.

"Now, I have indeed heard the rumors that these nanodoctors could be potentially harmful, namely for the risk they carry of cross-contamination. Many people wonder how we would go about making sure that the robots were completely sterile before injecting them into a patient. I've heard theories of ultraviolet sanitation; a special chemical solution that literally could kill any virus, bacteria or fungus that it came in contact with; even the idea of building the robots so cheaply that they're only single-use has crossed the table. The truth of the matter is, however, that no idea is completely perfect. The last one isn't very economical, and even if it was, it would leave margin for malfunction. The first one is merely a fantasy, because UV only sanitizes what it can touch, so any bit of shade on them would still be contaminated; and no chemical – or mix of chemicals – is good enough to trust with the job of getting rid of _every_ possible virus without worry of poisoning the patients with the same sterilizing solution. So, tell me, lovers of science, what is the happy medium here?" Ned paused. As he did so, the screen behind him changed to a picture of a white box that looked suspiciously like a toaster oven. "Luckily, I leave no stone unturned when it comes to things like this. If you'll kindly look at this illustration, you will see my own personal solution to this problem: a nanorobot sanitation chamber I affectionately named T.I.N.A. – Technical Improvements in Nanorobot Antisepsis, which I admit are just some words I threw together because I wanted to name the machine Tina." The crowd laughed some more. "The idea behind T.I.N.A. is a special series of multileveled platforms, designed to spread out the nanodoctors. Once activated, T.I.N.A. will gently mist the nanorobots, which she will be rotating with a slight swaying action so as to make sure she gets every area, with a specially designed nontoxic sanitation mixture, and blow her charges dry with a little warm air – and by warm, I mean hot enough to kill any living organism dumb enough to get in there. The end result should be a perfectly harmless, completely clean piece of nanorobotics, ready to serve its hospital patrons once again." Ned bowed low as the clapping started.

Ted clapped along with the rest of the audience, privately impressed. Ned really outdid himself with his invention of T.I.N.A. Just thinking about all the people that could be helped with the invention of the nanodoctors as well as a sound sanitation method made Ted proud to call Ned his brother.

As the clapping ebbed away, Ned continued on, "Of course, I've spent the last half hour talking solely about the perks of having nanotechnology work for us in the medical field; there's so much more this division of science can offer us, which is why it's been one of my favorites for such a long time.

"Unfortunately, as amazing as technology is, there is no way to completely control it – some may argue that it seems to have a mind of its own, others may say we simply don't know enough yet. Whatever the case may be, there is always the chance, however minuscule, of malfunction. We don't know what that malfunction may be, or how it will affect the people involved, until it happens – there is no way to prepare for when a disaster of this kind strikes." He gazed around at the people in the room, slowly, as if looking into each of their souls. The mood became more somber. "However," Ned continued more cheerily, "even if it's not in the medical field, nanotechnology is still widely useful to us, specifically in the area of criminal justice. I believe this is a good time to introduce you to the nanodoctor's cousin, the nanosoldier."

The projector screen changed to show another animated steel ball, only this time, when the outside shell became transparent, the internal components were notably different in multiple aspects.

"The nanosoldier was designed for work in the field of criminal justice, particularly in the CIA, FBI and certain divisions of the military. A bit larger than their civilian cousins, these little guys were designed with only one real purpose: delivery. This may be a truth drug when we get the bugs worked out of that, but right now its primary package is poison. Be it a potent sleeping potion, a solution designed to cause paralysis or extreme pain, or even one made for the kill, this nanorobot is made to deliver it.

"One may argue that the nanosoldier's primary function is basically useless, given all the different forms and applications poisons already have – powders one can dissolve in a drink, liquids that may be injected straight into the target's body, pills. But the nanosoldier has one function that normal poisons do not have: remote activation and timed releases."

Ted frowned. His brother had never mentioned the nanosoldier before. Come to think of it, the nanosoldier didn't even show up in the program as one of the topics that was going to be discussed. He felt his stomach start to turn over uneasily. Something was wrong...

His earpiece crackled and Madison's voice filtered through. _"This is torture! When are we going to nab him and get out?"_

"Not yet," Ted murmured quietly, looking away from the person sitting next to him. One look at his face and it would all be over – suddenly, he realized what a dumb idea including himself was. "I want this to be clean. There are too many witnesses right now."

_"__Too many witnesses! Who's to say if we'll be able to grab him once this whole thing is over? He's _right there_! The sooner the better!"_

Looking over, Ted noticed a pair of dirty blond pigtails get up on the far side of the balcony. "_Madison_!" Ted hissed into his earpiece. "Get back in your seat before you compromise this mission! That's an order!"

But he was ignored. Madison didn't answer.

"Madison!" he tried again, but he knew it was hopeless. Sometimes, he truly hated the Holts.

"The remote activation is a pretty simple idea," Ned continued, oblivious. "You get some of the nanosoldiers inside their target – by straight injection, let's say, for simplicity's sake – but they're all inactive. If you suddenly decide two weeks later that you want that person to be hit with whatever toxin you've loaded, you simply hit the activation button and the nanorobots will do the rest! The timed releases require a bit of effort on your part beforehand, but it's worth it..."

"Hamilton?" Ted muttered into his earpiece, tuning out his brother's monologue. "Can you get Madison before she jeopardizes anything?"

_"Already on it."_

"You're a lifesaver."

Ted watched as Hamilton stood up on the opposite end of the room from where Madison was hugging the wall, trotting down the stairs, moving toward the stage. Unless Hamilton sprinted, there was no way he'd make it to Madison before she reached Ned. Ted wasn't much closer, but at least he was on the same floor as her. He stood. It was up to him.

Carefully, he made his way toward the Holt, keeping his face obscured by the fedora he had put on before walking in. Thanks to Ned announcing that he was the President's twin brother, any off-chance that somebody seeing his face wouldn't recognize him was decidedly _off_. He couldn't afford to be noticed. Not now.

"I'm sorry I went off on that little tangent about the nanosoldiers. I had actually planned to tell you about them in a couple months, when they're a little more developed..."

Madison was almost to the stage. Ted wasn't going to make it to her in time. He picked up the pace, simultaneously pressing the communication button on his earpiece. "Madison, please, stop! I have a bad feeling about this..."

"... but I really felt the need to tell you about them today..."

"The nanosoldiers weren't on the program. I think Ned knows we're here! Madison, I'm begging you, stop, before he sees-..."

"... because my brother is here, and I wanted him to know _exactly_ what was about to happen." Ned, grinning, turned his eyes on Madison, who had stopped at the edge of the stage. She stared back at him defiantly.

"... you," Ted whispered, scared.

Ten feet. That was the distance between him and Madison. So close, yet so far.

Brave to a fault, Madison's voice rang out, "Ned Starling, you're under arrest for the theft of hundreds of thousands of dollars over the past nine months, and for resisting arrest!"

Ned's grin was still present. "Hello, Madison! How are things?"

The CIA agent drew her gun and hopped up on the stage. The auditorium had gone silent as a grave. "Turn around, on your knees, hands on your head," Madison barked.

Ned sighed. "All right, fine, you caught me." He did as he was told, setting the microphone on the ground beside him.

From the bottom of the stairs leading to the stage, Ted was biting his lip so hard he worried it would bleed. "Have him cuff himself," he whispered, hoping to magically give Madison the idea, even as she walked toward Ned. "Throw him the handcuffs and have him cuff himself..."

No one was really sure what happened next.

Ned somehow threw himself forward, caught himself with his hands (which he had managed to get out from behind his head before he landed face-first on the hardwood flooring), and kicked out with his legs like a bucking horse, planting a savage blow to Madison's right shin. She cried out in surprise, stumbling.

Ned shot up like a whirlwind, and grabbed Madison before she hit the ground or regained her balance, quickly whipping her around to pin her to the podium. The flexible built-in stand for the microphone flattened under the impact and was jabbing her in the back of the head.

Panting slightly, Ned smiled winningly at her. "You just think you're all that and a bag of chips, don't you, Maddy?"

"With a small soda, no extra charge," she spat back.

Placing his right forearm over her chest to keep her pinned, Ned used his left hand to wrestle the gun from her grasp. He considered pointing it at Ted, who had bounded up the stage steps in two giant leaps, but decided against it, instead opting to drop it on the ground and kick it far away from them.

He unbuttoned his suit's jacket so he could reach in. When he produced his hand, he had a syringe filled with cloudy liquid and floating black dots. He held it up for Madison to see.

"I hope you know what these are," he said to her nonchalantly, as if he were simply curious to know if she could make a certain recipe unassisted. He twisted the vial so she could get a good look at the contents. "I mean, you just heard an entire lecture about them. I'm sorry to say these aren't remote activated, nor do they have their little timers set. However, what I can guarantee is that the poison they currently contain is very potent – I picked it out myself, so I should know. I would tell you the name, but it's long and hard to pronounce, and I don't want to hurt your poor, fragile Tomas brain." He smiled sympathetically. "But on the bright side, you're my first test subject!"

Ted snapped from his trance. "_NO_!" he shouted, lunging forward.

But he was too late. Ned swiftly plunged the needle into Madison's neck and emptied the syringe's contents into her. Madison gasped at the pain, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"I'm sorry to say the pain will only get worse," Ned commented, drying her tears with his sleeve, "but not for long. Pain is only temporary, sweetheart. Remember that." He smiled soothingly.

By now, the others were on the stage as well, in varying states of shock. No one was sure what to do at this point. Now they needed Ned in order to get the antidote. Did that change the plan?

The second-oldest triplet supported Madison for a moment longer. Then he bent his head, murmured something to her so quietly that nobody else was able to hear, and stepped back, releasing his grip.

She collapsed to the ground, gasping like she couldn't catch her breath. Her body shook with tremors of pain. Tears dripped from her eyes.

Ned merely dropped the syringe on the ground, calm and collected, stomping on it. The glass cylinder shattered.

He gave Ted a cool smile. "_Sorry_ for the inconvenience, Teddy, but you've been racketeered."

Their gazes locked for a moment, but then Ned turned on his heel and sprinted away.

No time to think about stupid Ned now. Ted raced to Madison, kneeling beside her. "Hamilton! Go after Ned!"

"But-"

"_GO_!"

Reluctantly, Hamilton sped off in a hot pursuit of the criminal.

The auditorium was now almost completely empty, the last few straggling occupants hustling out. Ted rolled the gasping Madison onto her back, felt for her pulse. It was strong and fast. Under different circumstances, that would be great; but he knew that the faster her heart was beating, the quicker the poison would permeate her body.

"Will someone hurry up and call an ambulance!?" he shouted.

"Amy's on it," Ian reassured. Sure enough, Amy had her cellphone up to her ear, tears streaking her cheeks.

Ted looked up. Dan was watching the scene, holding a wailing Reagan to his chest as tightly as he could, muttering soothing words under his breath.

Ted's heart broke. This is what he'd wanted to keep from happening! And look how it turned out. He wiped away Madison's tears, cupped her cheek in his hand, murmuring, "It's okay, Madison. You're going to be okay. I promise, I'll do everything in my power to make sure you make it out okay. Just don't close your eyes. I need to know you're alive, so you need to stay awake, okay? Can you do that for me?"

She didn't answer, for obvious reasons, but she was getting notably weaker.

"_Where is that ambulance_?!" he roared, glancing around for any telltale signs that the paramedics were there.

His eyes landed on Reagan once again, and it only took one look for him to know he simply _had_ to keep her sister alive. Failure was _not_ an option.

Rolling up the sleeves of his navy blue sweater, he muttered, "I'm really starting to wish Sinead was here. She's the one that took those summer medical courses in high school..."

Licking his lips nervously, he began to perform CPR.

* * *

The mood was grave as Madison was loaded into the ambulance. Ted sent her off with a pat on her hand and a promise to avenge her. Amy, still having to try extremely hard not to cry, stood, sniffling, next to Ian, who had his arm comfortingly around her shoulders. Reagan was begging the paramedics to let her go with them. Hamilton had come back a couple minutes before, empty-handed, with the (angry) explanation that Ned had jumped into his BMW (which he had apparently went back to the restaurant to get after escaping the day prior) before Hamilton could reach him, and nearly hit the Secret Service agent as he peeled out.

Ted was really starting to – dare he say – hate his brother.

Dan sidled up next to the President. "What do we do now? We've officially been _racketeered_, and it seems that'd all been part of his plan..." He sighed, shaking his head. "How do you beat a guy that knows everything you'd ever do? How do you do something so unlike you that even _he_ wouldn't think of it? I mean, do you do something totally like you, or totally _un_like you? Which would be less obvious?"

"Ned doesn't take dumb chances anymore," Ted replied. "He'd account for both of those scenarios and catch you in the back swing."

"Which means...?"

"Ultimately, he's impossible to fool."

"Yeah, I think we just saw a prime example of that."

Reagan hadn't been allowed to ride with Madison, but Ted promised they'd drop her off at the hospital on the way back to the White House. He sent Hamilton out to get the car.

"All that said," Dan continued, "what do you think Ned's next move will be? If he can guess something as random as you showing up at the lecture, can't you guess where he'd go next?"

"Ned has been a bit of an enigma ever since college. It's gotten harder and harder to decipher his thoughts. And to be honest," Ted sighed, "when he told me he was The Racketeer, I wasn't even sure I knew him anymore."

"So... he pretty much has us at a disadvantage because he caught you off your guard?"

"Yeah, if you want to be blatant about it."

Dan crossed his arms. "Wonderful."

* * *

On the way to the hospital, Ted had a great idea that would possibly help Madison. They needed the antidote in order to save her, and he highly doubted that Ned would give it up, even if they managed to capture him in time. But if there was another chemist out there half as ingenious as Ned, it was Sinead. He called her and asked her to meet them, giving her a rundown of what had happened.

"Please, Sinead. I know you're still a little mad at me, and I promise I'll make it up to you, but I really need your help. You know as well as anyone that the last thing I would want is for someone to die for this... Thank you so much. I owe you... We'll meet you there." He hung up, breathing a small sigh of relief.

"Hey, Prez?" Reagan asked quietly.

"What's up, Reag?"

"I..." She sighed. "I don't think I should be on the team anymore."

"Why?"

"With my sister in the hospital, barely clinging to life, I doubt my better judgment. I just don't want to do anything that will help The Racketeer get away again."

Ted gave a small smile. "He doesn't exactly need the help, does he."

"No, and that's why I wanted to ask if you cared if I left the group." She looked up at him. "If he's still out there when my sister is out of the hospital, or is at least stable, of course I'll come back. But for now, I don't want to be the reason that two-bit criminal escapes again. And you know me; if there was any doubt in my mind that I would be able to act rationally, I would stay on just to be able to string Ned up by his toenails. But I don't trust myself; I'm afraid I'll only make things worse."

Ted sat in silence for a moment, mulling the request over, before nodding. "I would really like you to be on the team, but I respect your wishes, and of course I'm very grateful that you're honest about your lack of confidence in your ability to perform at full capacity." He smiled sympathetically. "And I promise to do everything in my power to get Madison back up and kicking."

For the first time since that morning, Reagan grinned. "Just make sure to position Ned's sorry butt in front of her when she does."

* * *

They dropped Reagan off at the hospital and gave the important details to Sinead, who had arrived around the same time.

The ride home felt deflated.

Ted stared out the window, gazing at the White House, trying to decide what his next move should be. Ned had gotten away – again – and they had no idea where to find him. And they were in a city with a population of over six hundred thousand people. Ted didn't use the word "hopeless" very often, but he was tempted to at that moment.

Hamilton pulled up to the guard station, rolling down the window. Per usual, Joseph was there, but instead of just letting them in like he normally did, he asked a question: "Is the President with you?"

Hamilton jabbed a thumb behind him, trying to hide his suspicions. "Yeah, back there."

The next thing Ted knew, he was being roughly dragged out of the back seat and getting his hands cuffed behind his back. "What do you think you're doing?!" he shouted. "Let go of me! Is this any way to treat the President of the United States?!"

Joseph and his partner, Harvey, tilted their heads back and laughed. "Nice try, Ned, but we're not falling for your tricks again. You're under arrest."

* * *

**Note:** I would just like to explain that, for all the research I do for my fanfictions, I don't know everything. T.I.N.A. is my own design, does not actually exist, and in all honesty would probably not work if it did. As for the nanodoctors, they are (loosely) based on actual nanorobots in development for use in the medical field. The nanosoldiers are also my invention, but again, probably do not work. If any of the nanotechnology items I mentioned exist, I do not know about them. The only thing I know about nanotechnology is what I learned from the Wikipedia article I skimmed on the subject. Therefore, please do not take anything said on the topic in this story - especially this chapter - seriously. A lot of the things in this story are fictional in order to save me from having to do real, thorough research on any one thing. I typically learn the gist and make the rest up based on that knowledge. That said, thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I would love it if told me what you thought of it. (: Thanks again!

Hugs,

Bre xoxo


	6. Foxtrot

_To **Kuaysan** and **Tayvaun**, the only set of identical twins I've ever had the pleasure of meeting._

_Too bad you guys will never switch places for a day, because, as Kuaysan said once while pointing at his brother: "It's hard to be him!"_

_I love you guys. ;)_

* * *

**Foxtrot | by Breanne Nedra | April 15th, 2014**

If Ted had woken up on an alien spaceship made of candy corn and peanut brittle, he still wouldn't have been as surprised as he had been at Joseph's words.

"What are you talking about? It's me, it's Theodore!"

"That's the flaw in your little charade, Ned," Harvey cut in. "The _real_ President is sitting in his office, going through paperwork – waiting for you to show up!" He guffawed loudly.

Hamilton was out of the car in an instant. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"We have orders to take Ned directly to the Oval Office. President Starling wants to speak with him," Joseph explained.

"You idiot, that _is_ President Starling!" Hamilton snapped, jabbing a finger at Ted. "If there's anyone in the White House right now, it's Ned!"

Harvey and Joseph glanced at each other uncertainly. "Do you have proof?" Harvey asked.

"I have my driver's license in my back pocket..." Ted glanced over his right shoulder as he wormed his hands around and managed to fish it out.

Joseph studied it with a keen eye, moving it around so the holographic image danced, no doubt trying to see if it had been altered or faked. Finally, he must have reached the verdict that it was real, but he didn't hand it back. "The President actually mentioned that he had lost this. I guess now we know where it went."

Dan, who had gotten out of the car as well, was gaping. "Man, Ned is _good_! He really thought of everything."

"He knows I always have my driver's license on me," Ted agreed quietly.

"Shut up and c'mon, you," Harvey said, pulling Ted toward the White House entrance. "He hasn't got all day!"

Amy had stepped out of the car on the other side, and she looked ready to grimace at the situation. "Don't worry, Ted," she called after the President, "we'll find a way to get you out of this!"

He nodded, but secretly he was fine for the time being. Ned obviously wanted to talk, which meant every step he took was a step closer to finding out why Ned went to such great lengths to ruin Ted's life.

He went willingly as the agents led him away.

* * *

Ned Starling sat in the high-backed leather swivel chair his brother had purchased for the Oval Office, cleaning under his fingernails with the toothpick end of one of those little paper umbrellas one might get in a tropical, fruity drink. Mentally, he was congratulating himself on a job well done. After peeling out of the parking lot and nearly hitting Hamilton, he had driven like an idiot (signaling one way and turning the other, cutting across three lanes of traffic without stopping, sitting through green lights) to make sure he didn't have any tails. Then he went into a McDonald's and cleaned himself up in the bathroom, straightening his jacket, brushing lint off his suit, and most importantly fixing his hair so it was neat and tidy – just like his brother wears his. Nowadays, other than Ned being left-handed and Ted being right-handed, the only notable difference between them was their hair; Ted's was always perfect, and Ned liked his a little on the messy side. Other than that, they were identical and Ned knew all he had to do was use his right hand for everything and the Secret Service would let him right in. And if they asked about Hamilton and Ted's other lackeys? A well-told story of how "Ned" took them hostage in an attempt to get into the White House before Ted got there would convince them. How could it not? That Ned was an evil mastermind. He chuckled to himself.

The doors to the Oval Office burst open, and Ned looked up to see Joseph and that other agent – Henry? – dragging Ted through the doorway. Ned couldn't help but smile as he dropped the umbrella back in his glass. "Well, look what the cat dragged in!"

Harry asked, "Where d'ya want us t' put 'im?"

"Over on the couch is fine," Ned replied, motioning to one of the comfy couches they had been sitting on just six days ago. The agents sat Ted down without taking off his restraints.

Joseph walked over and handed Ned his brother's driver's license. "We found this on Ned's person. He must have been planning on using it as a form of identification to get in."

"Thank you," Ned threw to the agents as they walked out. He slipped the card into his pocket.

When they were gone, he plunked himself down on the sofa opposite his brother. "I'd like to start off by saying that I love the chair. I might have to get one for myself."

Ted wouldn't look at him.

"Go ahead and act angry all you want, I don't need you to reply to the stuff I say. I'm perfectly capable of talking and not caring if you're listening. Although, may I say, that's not a very nice way to treat your brother. How would you like it if I treated you that way?"

Ted, still staring pointedly at the floor, replied quietly, "I don't know if I have a brother anymore, Ned."

"Again with the theatricals! You've turned into a real drama king since coming to Office, you know that?" Ned tsked his tongue sympathetically. "How you get anything done with a mindset like that is beyond me."

Ted's head snapped up. "Do you not feel anything?"

"I'm feeling kinda hungry. I skipped breakfast."

Ted asked, "Is that how far you've fallen, Ned? That you could heartlessly murder a young woman you've known since you were a teenager and genuinely feel _nothing_?" Four blue eyes were locked in a battle for dominance, and Ted was determined to win.

Ned smiled all the same. "It wasn't murder. It was self-defense. She had her weapon drawn."

"Call it whatever lets you sleep at night," Ted muttered darkly. "But if Madison doesn't pull through, if she dies because of your poison, because of your _nanosoldiers_... you'll be a murderer whether you call yourself one or not."

Ned had a calm, almost bored smile on his lips. His eyes were half-closed. "Wow. I almost felt a twinge of something there."

If someone had been able to pause the scene and ask Ted what he was feeling in that moment, he wouldn't have been able to tell them. His emotions were whipped up to the point of intelligibility. He wasn't sure if he wanted to beat Ned over the head with something hard and blunt, or if he want to lie down and sleep until somebody else managed to deal with the problem. Honestly, the idea that his brother could be so cruel and cold-blooded was one that, even after all Ned had done, Ted still had a hard time wrapping his brain around.

His energy was zapped, he could feel every painful beat of his heart. Ned was a murderer, and he didn't even have the decency to care. And yet, after all his brother had done, Ted realized he only had one question perched on his lips, dying to be asked.

"Why?" he whispered.

"Because you're good at guilt-tripping people," Ned replied, misunderstanding his brother.

"No." Ted's steely gaze locked with Ned's. "I mean _why_ did you become The Racketeer? _Why_ are you acting this way? _Why_ am I sitting handcuffed on my own couch asking you why? Why you betrayed me, betrayed Sinead, betrayed America, betrayed _yourself_!" He studied his brother's face. "Why, Ned? Why?"

Ned carefully shifted his position on the couch, stretched one arm over the back, glanced out the window. "Very good at guilt-tripping."

"Ned!"

"What do you want me to say?" he shot back. "Do you want me to say that I'm working for the Russian mafia and this is all some kind of conspiracy? Do you want me to say that this is all a dream and if you close your eyes and clap your hands three times that you'll wake up? Do you want me to say that I'm sorry and I'm a bad Ned and break down crying because I'm such a bad person?" Ned shook his head. "You'd be asking me to fill your head with lies."

"Like you've never done that before," Ted muttered. "But what can I say, ignorance is bliss."

"I seem to remember us coming to the agreement that knowledge was bliss – or was that back when we were young and foolish?"

"We were young," Ted agreed, "and maybe a touch foolish, but if you ask me, the truth simply changed. Because I know for a fact that I was a lot happier before finding out you were The Racketeer."

Ned gave a dreamy smile. "Weren't we all."

Adjusting his position on the sofa in a vain attempt at getting some comfort, Ted said, "Well?"

"Pardon?"

"Are you going to answer my question or continue dancing around the mulberry bush?"

"I do have a knack for dancing."

"Ned..."

Holding up his hands, Ned replied, "All right, all right, you win – but only because I'm letting you." He loosened his necktie a bit, since he was still in his suit from the lecture. "What do you want to know?"

"All of it," Ted replied firmly. "From A to Z, from Alpha to Omega, from beginning to end – spill it all. You mentioned something about college, so I assume it starts there. Maybe you should start there, too."

"Good plan," Ned murmured sarcastically, "I can see why they made _you_ President.

"Okay, so do you remember back when we had just finished recovering from the final round of surgeries? You could finally see, and I could finally turn in my essays on time?"

"At all," Ted corrected. "And yes."

"Well, it started around that time."

"That far back?" Ted asked, surprised.

"Yeah, that far back." Ned loosed a sigh from his throat. "I was majoring in aerospace engineering and you were majoring in chemical engineering. You were dating a girl named Dina-"

"Diana," Ted corrected.

"-and I didn't have a girlfriend," Ned continued. "If you recall, we were living pretty different lifestyles for brothers living in the same dorm."

"That's the understatement of the decade," Ted replied, grinning at the absurdity. "I was living a quiet, happy life: enjoying weekly dates with Diana, trying all kinds of new things, and turning in my homework on time, and _you_-"

"Were living the life I wanted after becoming migraine-free. You can't exactly judge me just because the life I lived post-recovery and the life you lived post-recovery were different."

"I wouldn't judge you based on that, Ned, except for the fact that your life was completely unhealthy – and don't even get me started on 'irresponsible.'"

Ned frowned. "What are you-"

"You were an alcoholic, Ned."

"I wasn't an alcoholic, I just liked partying. Your life was quiet, mine was loud. Simple differences, they keep the world spinning."

Ted sighed, shaking his head. "Couldn't accept it then, can't accept it now. I guess some people never grow up."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ned asked, scowling.

"You were practically partying Friday through Thursday, you acquired a taste for Miller Light and, consequently, Vernors, because your daytime hours were a constant hangover. If it weren't for your supreme intellect, you would have failed all your classes; and even with it your grades were falling because the bombardment of alcohol was ravaging on your mind... Need I go on?"

"Having fun isn't – and was not at the time – a crime, Ted."

"Who said it was?"

"You're making it sound like _you_ believed it was."

"I was worried about you, Ned. What those migraines had done to you, what your college pals were doing to you – you were my brother and you were killing yourself, slowly but surely. What was next? First alcoholism, what if you became a smoker next? Or a drug addict? What if because of your alcohol addiction you accidentally committed vehicular manslaughter? You'd have to live with the fact that you'd killed someone for the rest of your life! Due to pure negligence! I didn't want that to happen."

"Yeah, and you can see how all of those worries played out for you. I haven't so much as looked cross-eyed at a cigarette and I've possibly already killed someone. Don't you just love karma?"

"I'm sure I would if I believed in it," Ted muttered.

"The point is, you wasted your college days worrying about me and trying to get me to change – to 'save me from myself' as I remember you putting it – and it didn't do a thing except make me mad."

"Don't I know it," Ted replied. "The one time you got really mad at me you threw a flowerpot at my head – because I told you that your life had been a wreck ever since you got rid of your migraines and that you were an insane drunkard."

Ned frowned. "Funny, I don't remember that."

"It took place at three AM, right after you came home from being an insane drunkard. You suffered a bad blackout. You didn't remember it the next morning, either. Just asked me what happened to the vase Sinead made us. You didn't believe me when I told you."

"That I remember," Ned agreed. "So see? All you did was make me mad, and in the end I cured myself – I've been alcohol free for almost two decades."

"Only after I switched my major to political science," Ted reminded. "Can't forget that small detail."

"Yeah... I wish you hadn't done that."

"Hey, I did it because of you. I mean, yeah, I had always found politics a mildly interesting subject, but I didn't feel I was cut out for it and wouldn't have given it a second glance if it hadn't been for your drinking problem."

Ned blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Wait... You switched because of me?"

"Yes. I know we had promised to start our very own lab together, but I didn't want to start a lab with an alcoholic. They're mentally unstable."

Ned's cocky demeanor seemed to have slipped a bit, and he frowned. "I... had felt betrayed when you switched like that. I thought... I don't know what I thought... I guess that you had forgotten your promise or something."

"How could I have just _forgotten_?" Ted asked, surprised.

"I don't know. Maybe I thought you had forgotten, or maybe I thought you did it on purpose. Whatever the case, I was immensely angry at you for it, I'll have you know."

"Good to know," Ted said dryly.

There was a pause in the conversation, each brother taking a moment to gather his own thoughts. Finally, Ned asked, "What really happened?"

Ted looked up. "You mean, did I forget or do it on purpose?"

"Yes."

"Honestly, with the way you were just kind of doing your own thing, not taking your schoolwork seriously anymore, I thought _you_ had forgotten about the lab; or just didn't care. So I didn't feel bad about switching my major."

Ned sat in silence for a few minutes, constantly aware of his brother's eyes on him. He was starting to stretch thin. This conversation about the goings-on while they were in college was long overdue, there was no denying it – but as many times as Ned had ran it through his mind, he never could have prepared himself for the things that were being said. The whole basis for The Racketeer's work was getting abolished right before his eyes. Could he have truly been this... wrong? All this time? "I hadn't wanted you to go into politics," Ned said quietly at long last.

"Then why didn't you say something? You seemed so happy for me when I told you and Sinead."

"Because I wanted you to do what you wanted. I'm your brother, I'm supposed to support you – and I _was_ happy for you. I just... felt abandoned. First you leave for a different major, and then Sinead gets her degree in journalism and announces she's moving to France, and I'm left feeling alone with my monolingual, science-major self. I almost felt boring."

"Sinead had a minor in natural sciences."

"Not quite the same thing."

"I know, but still. And if you felt abandoned, you should have told me. You know I would have never left you behind if I thought I was."

"Yeah, I know, and back then I was nice enough to not use that to my advantage. I vowed to let you go and deal with my problems myself, since I was kinda the cause of them. And it worked: I stopped drinking, took my schoolwork seriously. I noticed the change in you pretty fast when I started taking care of myself again. But yet, I couldn't help it – I felt like you had left me in the cold, and I was angry about it. So I decided that I'd do something to stop you, to make you pay for leaving me behind." Ned got up and started pacing, which immediately made Ted nervous. "But I couldn't simply ask for you to just _give up_ your dreams in politics, so I needed to make sure that you couldn't follow them anymore – permanently." He looked over at his brother and smiled. "I vowed to ruin your political career, make everyone hate you, and then you'd have no choice to but to go from President Starling back to my brother Ted – the one who wanted to start Yellow Dragon Laboratories with me. Maybe you'd keep your promise after all, I told myself. Yeah, maybe in the beginning I had some doubts about the way this would all work out, but after a while, I realized I didn't care. You had betrayed me. You needed to get off your high horse, and I took it upon myself to yank you from the saddle; after all, someone needed to show you the consequences of your actions."

"But I didn't even know your true feelings about my switch."

"And it's a cryin' shame, isn't it?" Ned said coldly. "'Cause I'm in too deep to give up now." He walked over to the couch and whipped Ted's driver's license out of his pocket, dropping it into his brother's lap. "And here, you can have this back. I didn't actually want it." He smiled cheekily as he made his way over to the desk and reached out, resting his finger on the intercom button. Pausing, he raised his head again to look into his brother's eyes. "And you know, Ted, despite everything that's been said, I think I'm going to enjoy ruining the rest of your life." He pressed the button and spoke into the intercom: "We're done in here."

Less than ten seconds later, Joseph and that other guy – Hans? – grabbed Ted, yanking him up from his seat and dragging him to the door.

"Wait!" Ted shouted, struggling against the agents' vice grips for a moment. "Please, N- Ted," he corrected quickly, "just answer one last question: Do you regret it? Any of it? Even a little bit?"

Ned was staring out the window he had broken just days before, at the scintillating leaves and sun-soaked grass. He remained silent for a moment, contemplating how to answer, before finally saying, "Take him to his old cell."

Ted's jaw dropped, and he felt his heart shatter as the agents led him away.

* * *

**Note:** I wouldn't normally do this, but I feel the need: Thank you to the guest reviewer - who simply goes by **Guest** - that has faithfully been reading and reviewing my chapters. I'm not sure if they're all the same person, but I know at least two are, and so I'd like to thank you, Guest. I'd also like to inform you that Melinda from Chapter Four actually _was_ loosely based off of Melinda May; I am a fan of Agent of S.H.E.I.L.D., too; and the system I am using to number my chapters is the Military Alphabet, and I will be putting the full list of letters in the bottom author's note of the last chapter, Chapter Ten. (: I'm so, so, so happy you're enjoying my story, and I hope it continues to be amazing.

Hugs,

Bre xoxo


	7. Golf

_For **Carl**, **Josiah**, and **Snel**._

_You guys are amazing, and I think it's safe to say you've changed my life in some way, however small. This is for you._

_Thank you so, so very much._

* * *

**Golf | by Breanne Nedra | May 10th, 2014**

Ted Starling never thought he'd be locked in his own prison cell.

Now he could say he had been and it was no fun. Nothing to do except listen to your own thoughts, and after a while, even those got kind of stale. At least the cleaners had managed to get Ned's lipstick message off the wall – being forced to stare at that would have just been the icing on the cake.

He heard footsteps on the concrete stairway leading to the underground prison block, and looked up as Amy Cahill slipped into view outside the wall of bars. For a moment their eyes locked. Neither of them knew what to say. The President was behind his own lock and The Racketeer was running free as if he hadn't committed a single crime. It was looking dismally like Ned had won.

Noiselessly, Amy pulled a chair closer to the cell and sat down. Ted went back to staring at the floor. The dyad sat in silence for a moment before Amy said, "I'm sorry, Ted."

The President shrugged. "It's not your fault."

"I know," admitted the Interpol agent, "I just feel bad. I wish there was something I could do."

Ted sighed quietly. "Honestly, I'm kinda thinking about giving up. Ned has proven to be, in a word, unbeatable. And I've proven to be a failure. This whole thing was my fault from the start. I don't see how I missed it."

"It's not your fault, Ted. Don't beat yourself up over this."

"It _is_ my fault, Amy," he insisted. "Ned told me everything. He became The Racketeer because he felt abandoned after I went into politics. Which makes me directly responsible for every crime The Racketeer has ever committed – and ever will." He dropped his eyes to the floor once again. "You were right all along, and I was too blind to see it. I guess those surgeries didn't work, after all."

"Ted," Amy replied softly, "I told you, he chose his own path. Someone once gave me a nice bit of wisdom: 'Situations don't invent emotions, they uncover them.' That means a person doesn't act a certain way in a certain situation because the situation itself made them feel that way – that emotion was already there, buried deep inside them; the situation simply exposed it."

He thought for a moment, staring into space. "That makes sense, although I fail to see how it applies to Ned. He wasn't always that way."

"Do you remember what you told me while we were planning the reunion?" Amy asked. "You said that Ned had mentioned something about being second best his whole life."

"Yes, I remember." Realization dawned. "You're saying that he's always been bitter about me and my accomplishments, but when I left him for politics, it was the last straw."

Amy nodded. "Exactly. You switching majors merely _exposed_ Ned's jealousy; it didn't create it. To blame you for this would be like blaming Grace for the Vespers – she didn't start the Vesper organization, she just started the Clue hunt, which caused them to come out of hiding."

"I still feel bad, though," Ted admitted. "Maybe if I hadn't dredged up those emotions..." He let the sentence hang between them.

Amy whispered, "Feelings buried alive never die."

He licked his lips. It was a gloomy thought, but he knew she was right. If those emotions weren't unearthed this way, something else would have brought them up. There was no avoiding it. So maybe it was best to deal with it while he had the chance.

Amy must have come to the conclusion that Ted didn't have an answer ready, because she began again, "In spite of all I've said, I can't believe Ned would do such bad things. It just doesn't seem like him. Not that I knew him well, but... he never _seemed_ evil. Maybe he was a bit of a jerk, but not villainous. It makes you wonder what was going through his mind when he formed The Racketeer."

"Probably alcohol," Ted muttered. "It was probably before he got over his addiction."

"He was an alcoholic?"

"For a short period of time while we were in college, yes. He was a minor hanging out with other minors, only they were underage drinkers and party-goers and my brother wasn't. They sucked him into their world. He would never admit it, but he's pretty easy to manipulate when it comes to ethics. The alcoholism is part of the reason why I went into politics instead of becoming a scientist like I always dreamed."

"Isn't that a twist of fate," Amy said, unable to stop a small smile from forming on her face. "Ned got mad at you for leaving him and yet he's the reason you left."

"I love my brother," Ted replied firmly. "I just don't love the demon inside him."

"The world needs more people like you, Ted." Amy's green-eyed gaze locked with Ted's blue one. "A good head on their shoulders, kindness overflowing, wisdom to share, and the strength to do what that wisdom says needs to be done." She gave a tentative smile. "Even when it hurts."

Ted smiled back, almost bashful at her praise. "Take away Katherine's serum and I'm no one special. I just learned the right lessons and made sure to remember them."

She gave a small laugh. "And as humble as a servant."

He waved his hand, laughing and looking away. "Stop it before you make me blush." He looked back at her. "Let's change the subject to something more productive. Like what ideas we have to stop this unexpected plot twist of Ned attempting to steal my job."

Amy shook her head sadly. "We've got nothing. Ian left, saying he needed some time alone to think and that he'd be back soon. Dan and Hamilton came up with a bunch of joke ideas and had a fun time laughing about them, but we obviously can't use any of them. And honestly, my brain feels like mush. I couldn't have a good idea if someone gave me one as a present. If you want my opinion, I think we're all a little too strung-out to be doing this right now."

Ted bowed his head, looking shameful. "I'm so sorry. I feel terrible for all I've put you guys through. If I had known this would happen, I would have just resigned and left it at that." He glanced up at her. "That said, if you want to back out, I give you permission. I won't hold it against you."

"No way," Amy said firmly. "If we didn't answer your call expecting to feel like this before the ordeal was over, that's our problem, not yours. We'll see it through. We're in it together." She smiled at him, and he couldn't help but smile back.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

"Oh, thanks indeed!" said a new voice. "Now the games can continue! You really had me worried that all the fun would end before the scores were tallied. And that's not very fair, is it?"

Ted and Amy both shot to their feet. The President went closer to the bars and Amy looked back at the stairway.

Ned leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, smiling like he'd just heard a joke, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pressed trousers. "Hi."

"What are you doing here?" Ted's mouth was dry.

"Well, I thought it funny," Ned began, "that I had given International Police Force agent Amy H. Cahill a direct Presidential order to not talk to the prisoner, and yet I heard her voice down here as I walked by. Strange, I think to myself, so I walk down here and – what do you know – here's Amy H. Cahill, talking to the prisoner and violating a direct order from a superior!" He put on a surprised expression, which quickly morphed into one of mock questioning as he jabbed a finger in Amy's direction and asked his brother: "Is this how they acted when you were in charge? No wonder you've had such a hard time keeping up with me!"

Ted felt rage boiling his blood. "Can it, Ned."

Ned chuckled immaturely like a nine-year-old school bully. "You said 'can it.'"

"Is this all some kind of game to you?" Ted demanded.

"Oh, sure, I love games. Especially the ones I can win, like chess."

"I bet you really like chess when you're playing with human pawns, right?" Amy glared daggers at the second-youngest triplet.

"Is there any other way to play?" Ned asked in fake interest, walking closer to the duo. "And the last time I took a pawn, I must've gotten a two-for-one deal, because darling Reagan never came back. Busy crying over her sister's body, is she?"

Amy teared up. "Shut up!"

"Make me, doll," Ned taunted.

The agent reared back to charge him, but Ted shot his hand out through the bars and snatched her arm before she got the chance. "He's baiting you," he warned, sending a glance at Ned. "All he wants is a reason to put you in here, too."

"I don't care!" Amy snapped, a stray tear on her cheek. "Madison is fighting for her life right now because of him and he's treating it like a joke!"

"He probably sees it like a joke. Everything is a joke to him. He's been that way since we were kids."

"Yup," Ned agreed with a nod. "And all my punchlines have something to do with someone else's pain."

"Ain't that the truth," Ted muttered.

Angered, Amy wrenched her arm out of the President's grip, wiping away tears.

"Aw, I'm sorry, Amy," Ned murmured soothingly. "I didn't mean to make you cry. Would you like me to-"

"Get out? Yes, I would!"

"I was going to say 'reunite you'..." he said slowly.

"How are you managing to live with yourself, knowing what you've become, Ned?" Ted asked. "Because twenty years ago you would have been disgusted with the kind of person you are now."

"Isn't it funny the way things change?" Ned replied, humor in his words.

"Well, _I'm_ not finding it very funny, but I assume our senses of humor aren't quite as similar as they used to be."

"I know! It's amazing we still look alike, huh?"

"You could say that..."

"You do realize you're not going to win, right, Ned?" Amy asked, rejoining the conversation. "We've managed to beat six other teams in the Clue hunt, reunite the Cahill branches, stop the entire Vesper organization, and keep J. Rutherford Pierce from administering the serum to Americans to turn them into his own private supersoldiers. Next to them, you're a cockroach!"

Surprisingly, Ned threw his head back and laughed. "And yet you've still not managed to beat me, am I right? Am I truly a cockroach?" He took a step closer, a smile on his face. "I'll give you that, you've beaten some nasty megalomaniacs in your days. But here's the thing about cockroaches: If you see one, you know there are probably fifty others climbing inside your walls." He reached out and drummed his fingers on Amy like a cockroach climbing up her arm. She shied away. "Obviously," he continued, leaning against the bars of the cell, "there's only one Racketeer. You just can't pawn my kind of awesomeness off on somebody else. But when you've got an ancient formula that enhances mental capability pounding through your heart, feeding your brain... there may as well be fifty of you. I'm sure you know all about _that_, Amy."

The agent froze. She whispered, shocked, "H-H-How do you know about that?"

Ned grinned. "The same way I know about your shoe size and the color of underwear you're wearing right now – _resources_."

"Do these resources happen to have the number of a respectable enough psychologist that you'll actually listen to him when he informs you that you're a nutcase?" Ted asked coldly.

"Whoa," Ned replied, putting his hands in a surrendering position, "let's not get crazy. They're only human."

"Which is more than I can say about you," Ted quipped, venom in his voice.

"Hey, now you're just being spiteful. What do you think Sinead would say if she heard you saying these kinds of things to me and actually meaning them?"

"I don't know, Ned. She seemed pretty upset when I told her that you're The Racketeer, so it's kind of hard to imagine what direction her thoughts take when she thinks of you right now. Maybe you should call her and ask her yourself," Ted nearly snapped. But as he uttered those words, an idea flew into his mind. The perfect way to beat Ned once and for all, to stop this whole charade – it could be ended in a matter of moments. A smile slowly spread across his features. He could still win this battle.

Ned had begun laughing, but it sounded a tad strained, like he was forcing himself to laugh when in reality he didn't feel like it at all. "Oh, I don't see the point in calling our poor sister all the way back he-"

"I do," Ted said, cutting his brother off mid-sentence.

Ned blinked. "Excuse me?"

The youngest triplet leveled his gaze with his brother's. "Call Sinead, Ned."

"And why exactly would I do that?"

"Because," Ted began, leaning closer to the bars, "the only reason you're sitting behind the Resolute Desk right now is because nobody on my staff can tell us apart. But there's one person on the planet who has never mixed us up: our sister. I say we end this charade before it gets any farther out of hand. If you can fool Sinead, you deserve to be President. And if you can't, well..." Ted smiled.

Ned was frowning, looking at his brother. There was no way out of this situation. If he decided to play unfairly and not call Sinead and leave Ted in the cell, Amy would almost surely make the call for them; and when Sinead showed up and realized Ted wasn't in his office, all would be lost. But if he said yes, he would be simply handing over everything he had worked so hard to attain. Would that be any better?

Finally, he opened his mouth and gave his answer. "You're on."


	8. Hotel

_To **my siblings**, just 'cause you're there._

_Love ya! ;D_

* * *

**Hotel | by Breanne Nedra | June 26th, 2014**

Ted stood uneasily as the guards came to lead him to the Oval Office. It was just over an hour after Ned called Sinead and told her of the bet the brothers had placed, and Sinead had just arrived to help them sort out the dilemma.

The President felt terrible for having to continually drag his sister back into the mess they were in with increasingly arduous tasks. First she was bait, then she had to play nurse, and then her brothers decide to use her as the deciding piece in a stupid bet. Ted couldn't honestly say he'd blame her if she never spoke to them again once all this was over. She wanted no part of Ned's criminal side to begin with, let alone being left to clean up the messes he made in his wake. Ted decided he'd make it up to her somehow; although he couldn't think of anything big enough to compensate.

At that moment, Ian came walking down the hall, having finally come back from wherever it was that he'd went after Ted was arrested. He smiled pleasantly at the guards escorting Ted. "Hello, gentlemen. Please, allow me to take it from here." He flashed his MI6 badge for good measure.

Thankfully they backed off and hustled off to their posts. When they were out of sight, Ian reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pressed something into Ted's hand. "Save it for a rainy day," he murmured quietly. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Ted looked down at the item and a gasp was pulled from his lungs.

In his hands was a shiny dart gun, loaded with darts, probably filled with some sort of specialty Lucian poison Ian whipped up in his spare time. With a note of desperation, Ted tried to give it back. "I really don't think I'll need this," he insisted.

"Well, keep it anyway," Ian half-grumbled. "On the off chance I'm wrong and you don't need it, it will be a lovely impeachment gift, wouldn't you say?"

"What if you're wrong _and_ I'm not impeached?" Ted questioned, fingering the weapon nervously. "What is it then?"

Ian laughed. "Oh, that will never happen." He clapped his hands twice in a _Let's hustle_ manner. "Chop-chop! Places to go, people to see." He walked off.

Ted sighed, ill at ease, and tucked the gun into his jacket pocket. He wasn't liking where this was going at all.

"Can I have the Secret Service back?" Ted muttered quietly as he trailed nervously after Ian.

* * *

Before he opened the door, Ian grabbed Ted's arm to make it look like he had led the President to the Oval Office. When the door opened, Ted couldn't suppress a grimace.

Sinead sat on one couch, staring down into a cup of jasmine tea, refusing to look at either of her brothers. Ned sat on the other couch, and turned when he heard the door open to flash a smile at the newcomers. He gave a little wave, and Ted couldn't help but notice he used his right hand to do it. In an attempt to not seem rude, Ted waved back as Ian guided him over and sat him down next to his brother.

It was going to end here.

"Anytime you're ready, Sinead," Ian said, taking a standing position next to Amy.

Sinead took a deep, shaky breath in a fruitless attempt to calm her nerves. She cast her brothers a fleeting glance. Swallowed. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, she began softly, "I would like to say something before I make my decision." She looked over at Ian, who motioned for her to continue. "Well," she said, "I would first like to tell Ted that I'm not mad at him for bringing me into this – repeatedly – because I know he's just trying to do what he thinks is right, and I can't get mad at him for it because that's why I encouraged him so fervently to go into politics after he made the decision to; I knew he would make the hard choices and do the right things, even if he risked losing something dear to him in the process." She gave her teacup a small smile, but Ted knew it was for him. "Ted, I really admire that about you, and I'm so happy and proud of the person you've grown up to be. You're better than me inside and out, and I know I don't say this often, but... I love you. And I'm so lucky to have you as a brother."

Ted bit back a smile, the tears that threatened to well up, and the words that longed to jump from his throat. He had to remain passive so he and Ned looked the same. But internally, he was jumping for joy and wanted nothing more than to wrap his sister in a gigantic hug.

Maybe that would come later.

"And now for you, Ned," Sinead continued. "I first want to apologize for what I'm about to do. I don't want it to end like this, I don't want you to go to jail, I don't want to be the one who sends you there, but... I can't deny that you made your own decisions. And while I'm not proud of those decisions, growing up I couldn't have asked for a better brother. You were the one I could always count on; the one who was always there for me even if you didn't feel like it; the one who went out of his way to see me smile, even if all you did was tell a corny joke. You spent a solid week almost constantly on Facebook, even though I and our parents and Ted all got mad at you for ignoring us, because you were coordinating a thirteenth birthday party, and you didn't want to tell anybody because you wanted it to be a surprise for me and Ted, even though it was your birthday, too. And to this day, that is still one of the nicest things anyone as ever done for me."

Ted glanced over at Ned, who had his lips pressed together and was obviously putting in a Herculean effort not to laugh or even smile at the memory. But in his defense, Ted was having the same problem; that had been the best birthday party he'd ever had. The Pin the Nucleus in the Atom game had been pure genius, as had the little teacups made out of molded chocolate. Ned had been careful to plan things that both of his siblings would like, and it had resulted in an amazing party.

Ted happened to catch Ned's eye, and for a second it was like they were kids again, and they shared a smile.

"All that said," Sinead went on, "I guess the only thing left, Ned, is to say that I love you more than words can describe, and that I'm so, so sorry for what I'm about to do. I don't want to, and I hope that on that ground you can forgive me." Finally, she looked up at her brothers, studying their faces like they would disappear forever and she needed to memorize them before that happened. Ted knew she wasn't trying to figure out who was whom. She just wanted to get a last look. After a minute, she turned to the Secret Service agent behind her, pointed at Ned and said, "That's him."

Ned offered her a smile. "That party was no big deal, Sinead. I'd wanted to do it. You guys were really all I had growing up, and the little things you did for me always meant a lot, even though I never said so."

"We both love you, Ned," Ted piped in as the Secret Service agents beckoned Ned to stand. "And I know I speak for both of us when I say that we forgive you."

Ned smiled widely. "Thanks, guys. You're the best. You almost made me reconsider what I'm about to do, but I figure you can forgive me again."

"What're you-"

Quick as a flash, Ned kicked one agent in the leg and spun to give the other a left hook suited for an MMA fighter. The agent fell, out cold.

Hamilton and Dan converged in an attempt to cut him off, but he ignored them, racing to the hallway and narrowly missing being nabbed by Amy who had predicted the move.

Ted was on his feet, listening to the sound of Ned's retreating footsteps and the heavy breathing from his team.

Ian had done nothing to help, and instead stood exactly where he had after putting Ted on the couch, shaking his head. "I told you something bad was bound to happen."

Ted released a sharp, irritated exhale. "I hate it when you're right," he huffed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the dart gun.

Sinead stiffened when she noticed the weapon. "What are you going to do with that?"

"Relax, it's just a dart gun."

"Really? Because it _looks_ like a real gun!"

"My own design," Ian said smugly. He turned to Ted. "Sounds like Ned was headed toward the Press Briefing Room, no doubt planning to escape through the garden and over the fence like last time."

"Then I should be able to cut him off through this door," Ted said, and sprinted to the door that led straight to the garden from the Oval Office, bursting into the evening sunshine.

He scanned the yard, paying careful attention to bushes and shaded areas where Ned could easily hide in the receding light. Suddenly, he saw him: a figure running through the garden, full-speed.

Ted didn't hesitate; he ran after his brother.

He caught up easily when Ned reached the fence and realized he didn't have enough time to scale it. He couldn't get out from here; not before Ted got to him. Ned reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a pistol, whipping around and aiming right at Ted, who already had his realistic-looking gun aimed.

It was a stand-off.

Ned's smile, which had been so warm and genuine back in the Oval Office, had gotten its sinisterness back. Panting, he said, "So. This is what it comes down to. What happened to love, Ted?"

"I don't know, Ned. Probably the same thing that happened to 'sorry.'"

Ned gave a chuckle. "Touché."

"You know, it's not too late. You can still turn yourself in. I can still pardon you. We can be best friends again, just like we were growing up. I promise." Ted looked at his brother hopefully. "What do you say?"

Ned thought a moment before replying, "I say you're kidding yourself. You thought I would give up that easily?" He chuckled again.

"I had hoped," Ted replied.

"Yeah, right." Ned brushed his cheek against his shoulder, wiping away sweat. "You may as well just give up, Ted. We both know you'd never shoot me."

The President licked his lips. "Oh, no?"

He didn't even flinch as he pulled the trigger.


	9. India

_To **Levi**, my youth group pastor's new baby boy, born October 22, 2014._

_Welcome to the world, Levi. You're going to have a wonderful life, because you have an amazing mommy and daddy. ^_^_

* * *

**India | by Breanne Nedra | July 2nd, 2014**

It was the next day before Ted could will himself to visit his brother in his cell beneath the White House, and even then, he delayed it as long as possible: taking his sweet time eating breakfast, writing a speech about The Racketeer's capture to recite at the press conference, taking a few phone calls, taking yet more sweet time eating lunch... But finally it was one in the afternoon, and he knew he couldn't stay away for much longer. So, tightening his tie resolutely, he made his carefully picked way down the concrete spiral staircase.

He stepped into full view from the cell and glanced in. Ned was lying on the bed, hands behind his head, staring listlessly at the ceiling.

"Ned?" Ted called, since his brother didn't seem to notice he was there.

Instead of replying, Ned asked tightly, "Did I kill her?"

Ted was confused. "Kill who?"

"Madison!" Suddenly, Ned sat up. He looked like he hadn't slept all night: bags under his eyes, hair in a mess, his necktie carelessly discarded in one corner of the cell, the first three buttons on his dress shirt undone. Ted wasn't sure what to make of it. "Is she dead? Did I kill her? Was she able to pull through?"

Ted's brain was having trouble keeping up. "I... Relax, Ned. Sinead was able to save her before she came over here yesterday."

"Oh, thank goodness." Ned fell back onto his pillow with a sigh of relief.

Twice as confused as before, Ted asked, "What happened?"

"Well, after I woke up in the cell and realized I was all alone with nothing to do, I started thinking about everything I've done. Stole millions of dollars, resisted arrest, even murder – or so I thought. You can't even believe how happy I am to know she's still alive."

"So... you feel bad now?"

"You're mocking me." Ned sat up and put his feet over the edge of the bed so he could sit. "Look, I have a conscience, Ted. I've just been ignoring it for a long time, trying to tell myself that this was the only way to do it." He glanced up at the President. "Would you like to hear a secret?"

Ted shrugged. Nodded.

"The main reason I became The Racketeer is because I missed you."

"What do you mean?"

Ned sighed. "I guess some part of me thought that, if The Racketeer was a big enough threat, you wouldn't be able to handle him, and it would force you to resign. Then you and I could be together again, best friends and brothers, just like before, and we could open Yellow Dragon Laboratories and invent things and everything would just be hunky-dory. I guess I never really took into account the fact that I would be pitting us against one another and that you could very easily come to hate me for everything I've done."

"I don't hate you, Ned."

"And I don't hate you." Ned glanced up at him once again. "No matter how it may have sounded in the past."

"Does that mean you don't want to be The Racketeer anymore?"

"Undoubtedly. But it doesn't really matter; even if I did, I'm going to jail for a long time, and The Racketeer's work isn't exactly something that can be continued from a prison cell."

Ted shifted his weight, considering the decision for a moment. "I could still give you a Presidential pardon," he offered.

Ned shook his head firmly. "No. I appreciate what you're trying to do, Ted, but people who've done less than me haven't gotten get-out-of-jail-free cards, and I certainly don't deserve one. But I do have something I want to give you."

"What's that?"

Ned pointed to the wall behind Ted, who turned around and stared. Ned's keys were hanging on a little hook. Ted took them down and held them out questioningly, and Ned nodded.

"You want to give me your apartment?" the President asked, bemused.

Ned shook his head again. "It's what's in the apartment that matters. Underneath my bed there are cash boxes – each one holds the money I stole from a different person, and each one is labeled with the real owner of the money. I want you to give it back."

Ted was shocked. "You said you spent it."

Exasperated, Ned hung his head and sighed. "I _lied_. I haven't spent so much as ten cents of it. I just told you that so you wouldn't go searching my apartment for it or something equally ridiculous. After I got you to resign I was going to covertly slip it back into the bank accounts of the people I cheated."

"The Racketeer was never meant to be a bad guy, was he? Even though he was a criminal?"

"He was a means to an end." Ned sighed again. "This isn't the end I had in mind, but an end it is."

Ted nodded slowly. "All right. I'll send Amy and Dan to pick up the money and begin to return it. In the meantime, I need to finish my speech. The press is going to want all the details about the arrest of The Racketeer."

Then it was Ned's turn to nod. "Do me a favor, will you?"

"Sure. What?"

"Tell them The Racketeer says he's genuinely sorry for everything he did. Tell that to Madison, too."

Pressing his lips together, Ted replied, "You got it."

* * *

Ned was dozing, only to be harshly awoken by the sound of his cell door sliding open. He raised his head, rubbing at his eyes. "What time is it?" he inquired the Secret Service agent.

"Six PM. Come with me. President's orders."

Wide awake, Ned stood uneasily. What did Ted want with him now? Was the money not where Ned said it would be? But no, that's impossible, he only touched the money when he was putting it in a cash box; then he kicked it under his bed and pretended he didn't know it existed. Nobody knew it was there except him – and now Ted, but Ted wouldn't steal it.

The agent cuffed him and led him up the stairs, down a few hallways and ended the walk in a pleasantly furnished sitting room-like area with mint green walls and cream-colored furniture. The agent took off the handcuffs and instructed Ned to sit on the couch and not try anything funny. Then he turned on the television.

It was set on the History channel, but the agent changed it to another station with a couple clicks of the remote. Ned's jaw dropped.

Ted stood behind a podium with multiple microphones, a pleasant politician's smile perched on his lips. He waved at something off screen and took a moment to take in the scene.

Ned turned to the agent. "What's this?"

"President Starling wanted you to see his speech."

"Why?"

"He didn't say."

Pressing his lips into a hard line, Ned turned back to the screen. There had to be a reason. He figured he'd soon find out.

_"Hello,"_ Ted began, _"and thank you all for coming out and tuning in on such short notice. President of the United States is one of only two jobs a person can get where even if people don't like you, they still come to hear you talk for two hours. The other job is university professor, and I say that from experience."_ Laughs from the crowd.

_"First, I would like to break the news to you: T__he Racketeer has been arrested._

_ "Next I would like to tell you why that is a terrible thing and what I plan on doing about it."_ A confused murmur could be heard. _"Please, don't jump to conclusions. I want you to hear me out. See, you probably expected to hear a speech from President Theodore Starling tonight, but the person you see standing before you right now is not him."_ Ted reached up and took off his suit's jacket as well as his bright red necktie. He rolled up his white dress shirt's sleeves an inch so they were off his wrists. _"Before I was President, I had another name. People called me Ted. I was __a __child prodigy, an inventor. I was also a triplet – my older sister Sinead is currently __living __in Paris, writing articles for her column in a scientific journal there. And my older brother Ned... is T__he Racketeer." _Gasps ran through the crowd.

_ "Now you may understand why I don't exactly like the fact that he's been arrested. But it's not because I've got a soft spot for my brother. __It's because a few hours ago, I talked to him. I know him better than anybody, and I could tell that, with nothing else to do or think about, he finally stopped to consider what he had done under the Racketeer moniker, and had spent the entire night beating himself up over it._

_ "I know why my brother became The Racketeer. And it was my fault._

_ "If anybody here remembers the bomb that went off at the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia just over twenty years ago, I would like to tell you something: I was there. Me and my siblings, we were there, the only victims of the explosion. We were crushed under two tons of rubble from the roof. My sister received a bunch of nasty cuts on her arms, legs and torso, resulting in permanent scars. I was looking right at the bomb when it went off and became permanently blind from the flash. My brother suffered with migraines so painful he couldn't speak, he couldn't think, and after a while they got so bad he couldn't even stand when one came on._

_ "Obviously I'm no longer blind, and that's because two years later my siblings and I, with the help of the world's greatest doctors, managed to come up with ways to cure us. My sister's scars are completely gone in some spots and very light in others, I can see again, and my brother is able to think without pain._

_ "After we were cured, we went back to college. I went into chemical engineering, my brother went into aerospace engineering, and my sister went into journalism with a minor in natural sciences._

_ "At first, everything was okay. I managed to get a girlfriend and a dorm with my brother, Ned's grades were really good now that his headaches were gone, and my sister loved everything about journalism and was completely convinced she'd found her calling. I was happy for her; I was just generally a really happy person. I always have been, actually, but everybody gets happier when things start going their way._

_ "But then things started going bad. Ned started going out to parties and getting drunk, and his grades started tanking. __I tried to get him to see reason every way I could think of – asking nicely for him to stop, yelling at him, leaving him alone to see if he'd stop on his own. You name it, I tried it, guaranteed._

_ "Consequently, I started worrying about the future for the first time in my life. Ned and I had wanted to open up a laboratory together, one that would make huge advancements in the realms of science and industry as well as raise up another generation of young inventors, chemists and every other type of scientist out there. But without Ned, I wasn't sure I wanted to start the company; the only thing I was completely sure about was that I did NOT want to start the company with an alcoholic. And I found myself looking for other options._

_ "October rolled around, and as luck would have it that was also the year of the Presidential election. Diana _– _my girlfriend – __was out on the town, Sinead was practicing her writing, Ned was at yet another party, and I was home at the dorm, bored out of my mind. As I was channel surfing, which I rarely do, I happened to stumble upon the Presidential debate between the two candidates. I never really cared about politics before, but anything was better than being bored, so I watched it._

_ "Oddly, it was one of the most fascinating things I had watched in a long time. The back-and-forth way of doing things, the strong points they made, the dumb points they made and the way I knew I could have done better – it all seemed so... _cool_. Something inside of me wanted in on it, but I wasn't the most political guy in the world. I mean, Diana once said that sometimes my smile reminded her of a politician's, but beyond that, political science was foreign territory for me. So I brushed it off._

_ "Until that night, that is._

_ "See, Ned came home completely drunk, and I lost my cool for a second and we ended up having a fight. It didn't get physical except for when he threw the vase our sister made us at my head and it shattered against the wall when I ducked. But there were no hard feelings over it, because he didn't remember it the next morning when he woke up, anyway._

_ "But that kinda sealed the deal for me, and I started looking into politics more. There was no way I was going to start Yellow Dragon Laboratories with a drunk that doesn't even have the decency to remember when he throws flowerpots at people._

_ "__In December of that year, having researched all there was to know about the political world, I was hooked, and made my decision to go into it. I announced it to my siblings when we went out for lunch one afternoon. Thankfully Ned was sober at the time. Both of my siblings were enthusiastic for me and __my __choice to switch into a field I seemed to like more, so I was confident as I began taking classes for it._

_ "And things just kept getting better from there! I was ecstatic. Ned started taking care of himself again, got his grades up and gradually stopped drinking and soon quit going to parties altogether, cutting his ties with the people who got him doing that in the first place. Sinead got her degree in journalism and excitedly moved to Paris to start her new life. Ned continued with his aerospace engineering degree, and was quickly the top in his class all over again. I didn't think life could get any better._

_ "Obviously a lot of things happened between then and now, but I'm going to skip all of that and go to when I became President._

_ "A few months after I did, a criminal started popping up all over the globe, swindling money away from people, but not in the normal phony online ads and fake telemarketer calls – no, he was doing things in a highly unusual but undeniably sophisticated way. Stuff even I never would have thought of. And he always left the same handwritten note, red ink on a cream-colored sticky note, at every place he targeted: 'Sorry for the inconvenience, but you've been racketeered. Signed, The Racketeer.'_

_ "I dealt with the stress of a criminal nearly as smart – perhaps even smarter than – me for months until one day, he waltzed into the Oval Office as if he was just visiting, and announced that he wanted me to resign or face the consequences. And he could only do that because I trusted him so completely._

_ "It was my brother. It was Ned._

_ "I went through a lot trying to arrest him, but he ended up arresting _me_ easily enough. He went into the White House while I was out, pretended to be me, and when I showed up, the Secret Service thought I was him. At first I was angry and a bit worried, but then I decided that it was okay because Ned wanted to talk to me. So the Service took me to the Office and my brother and I talked, __just the two of us. And I found out why he had become T__he Racketeer._

_ "He had been jealous of me my entire life, because I was the 'perfect' one. I was good-looking, I was smart, I was nice, I was talented, I was the youngest. To him, being second-youngest also meant being the second best. He got even more jealous when I went into politics, but not for the reasons you might think: He was lonely. With Sinead in Paris and me out on the political trail, Ned felt like he was all alone. The real intention of The Racketeer was to compel – or force – me to resign; because if I wasn't the President anymore, then he and I could open up our lab. Everything could go back to the way it was. But he wasn't going to be happy unless I was out of Office, and he was willing to go down with the ship._

_ "And he did. Because he's locked in the White House prison block right now, awaiting prosecution._

_ "I talked to him earlier, like I said, and you should have seen him. He looked terrible, and you could tell he hadn't slept at all last night. I greeted him this afternoon and the first thing he did was ask about one of my agents that he had nearly killed. He was racked with guilt, and specifically told me that he was ready to take the fall for everything he's done. But I'm going to be honest with you... I can't let him do that. He's beaten himself up enough as it is, and if you know my brother, he never does anything halfway. I really admired that about him growing up._

_ "So... I'm going to let you decide what happens from here. Because in the end, he didn't take anything from me that wasn't already gone – I lost my brother back in college, and now I feel like I've got him back and I should be shaking T__he Racketeer's hand with all sincerity. But he did steal from you, if only because he stole your peace of mind. He already promised to give back all the money – he never spent any of it, and Interpol is going to be connecting with the victims and giving their money back over the next week or so. __But we still need to do something with Ned, so here are your choices, America:_

_ "You can choose to let Ned go. I know my brother better than anybody, and I can promise you that he will _never_ turn back to crime. When he is released, I will write him a check for a million dollars, out of my personal checking account, to fund Yellow Dragon Laboratories, and finally give my brother the help I promised to give him all those years ago._

_ "Or, if you feel The Racketeer deserves to go to jail and pay for his crimes, which is a standpoint I can respect, then we will put him on trial. Only he will still go free, and I will resign from Office and take his punishment."_

Ned's jaw hit the floor.

_"The Racketeer, ultimately,"_ Ted continued, _"is my fault. I created him. So it is only fair that I take responsibility for him and all his actions._

_ "Tomorrow at noon, Eastern Time, your votes will be counted. I assume there's going to be a website or something you can go to and cast your vote, but someone else will have to tell you about it. And whichever side wins – Ned going free and starting the lab or me taking his place in jail with my Vice President taking my place as President of the United States – I will be out once again to tell you about it around this time tomorrow."_

He went to turn away, but then turned back and said, _"By the way, earlier, when I talked to Ned, he wanted me to pass along a message during my speech. I almost forgot, but here it is: 'The Racketeer is genuinely sorry for everything he did.'"_ On that powerful note, Ted turned and walked off the stage, back toward the White House entrance. Someone else stepped up to take Ted's place, no doubt giving the web address or phone number or other means of voting, but Ned wasn't listening.

What had Ted _DONE_?!

The President of the United States was going to be sent to jail, and it was all Ned Starling's fault.

* * *

Ned had been paying very close attention ever since he had been put back in his cell.

Finally, he heard it: Footsteps on the staircase.

He shot to his feet as Ted came into view. "What. The heck. _Was that_?!"

Ted's brow wrinkled in pseudo confusion and he jabbed a thumb back in the direction of the stairs. "That was just me."

"You know darn well what I meant!"

"Ned, I think you're overreacting."

The Racketeer stormed up to the wall of bars. "You just gave America two choices that sets a world renowned criminal free. What if they send you to jail just because they don't like your options? Or what if the twenty percent of Americans that don't like you send you to jail just out of spite, or because they want you out of Office? What if-"

"Wait, I only have a twenty percent dissatisfaction rate?"

"Are you paying attention to anything I'm saying?"

Ted nodded. "Yes, I was paying very close attention to that. Wow! I haven't checked the charts in a while. That means I have an eighty percent satisfaction rate! That's gotta be a new re-"

"_Did you even consider that I might feel guilty if you got sent to jail for my crimes?!_"

The place fell silent after Ned's outburst.

Suddenly, Ted's face morphed into a soothing smile, like a father might give an angry child. "Ned, I wouldn't have given them the choice if I thought there was any likelihood that they would choose that."

"But what if you're wrong?" Ned asked quietly. "What if they do? What then?"

"We'll take it in stride. Together. Just like we always did." Ted smiled, and Ned couldn't help but smile back. "Now, come on," the President said, and for the first time Ned noticed the keys in Ted's hand as he unlocked the door. "You're having dinner with me tonight."

But Ned didn't walk out of his cell. "I... I don't get it, Ted. I've done so many terrible things... How can you forgive me so easily?"

"Because I know why you did it," Ted explained. "And because we're brothers. We stick together, no matter what."

Ned gave a small smile. "Thanks, Ted. That really means a lot."

"Don't mention it."

And the brothers headed back up the stairs.

* * *

**Note: **The next chapter is the last one. Who's excited to see the finale? Do you think Ted will get sent to jail? What's your vote in Ted's poll - Ned going free, or Ted going to jail for his crimes? Leave your answers in a review! (Although I'm sorry to say it won't change the outcome of the story - the last chapter is already finished. ^_^)

Hugs,

Bre xoxo


	10. Juliett

_The final chapter is dedicated to **all my amazing reviewers**, who took time out of their busy lives to tell me that they liked my story._

_This is for you. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did writing it._

* * *

**Juliett | by Breanne Nedra | September 29th, 2014**

Ted woke up to the harsh ringing of his cellphone, which was sitting on his bedside table, plugged into the charger. Groggily, he sat up, glancing at the clock briefly before answering the call. "Ted Starling speaking."

"Ted, it's Hamilton. Were you sleeping?"

"No, I'm in the middle of an adventure with Gandalf. At one in the morning."

"Sorry. I'm at the hospital."

The President snapped awake. "What for?"

"Madison was discharged. Apparently she had recovered hours ago, but they wanted to keep her for another couple days to make sure she was okay. She didn't want to do that, though, and after she threw the TV remote through the window and punched three nurses they finally said she could go home. So she called me to pick her up. I was just wondering if I could put her in a guest bedroom."

"Of course, Ham. I'll get it ready for her."

"No, don't bother. Just go back to sleep. You've got a big day ahead of you, what with public poll result readings and such."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I've got it handled. See you in the morning."

Ted heard Hamilton end the call and hung up on his side of the line, tossing his phone back onto the nightstand. After a couple seconds of sitting on his bed, he muttered, "You might be sure, but I'm not." He stifled a yawn with his hand. "Unfortunately." He got up, changing into the bluejeans he had worn yesterday and a green t-shirt with a faded 7 Up logo printed on the chest.

He walked barefoot down the halls until he came to the room Madison had been using before the incident. He turned on the light and closed the door softly behind him, careful not to wake Reagan, who was sleeping in the neighboring room.

The room was in quite the state of disarray. Dirty clothes were in a messy pile on the floor, the bed probably hadn't been made since Madison had moved into the room, and it appeared that the agent had been living out of her suitcase – no doubt thinking that putting her items away would be a waste of time. Ted started with the bed, straightening it out so all she had to do was climb in and pull up the covers. He cleared four candy bar wrappers off her nightstand and replaced them with a glass of water. He made the pile of dirty clothes a bit neater and picked up the rest of the trash on the floor, throwing it in the trash can with the candy wrappers.

Twenty minutes later, Hamilton and Madison walked to the front door, where Ted met them to escort Madison to her room. She looked none the worse for wear. There was a bruise on her neck where Ned had injected her with the nanosoldiers, and she was still walking with a small limp from the blow he had planted on her leg; but beyond that, there were no other marks that Ted could see. But he figured there probably were some more on her back from being pinned against the podium. She also looked extremely tired, but then again, so did Hamilton – and Ted would've bet money that he himself probably looked similar.

"Hey, Madison. How are you feeling?"

"A lot better than before," she admitted. "Whatever your sister did, she's a genius."

Ted chuckled. "I think we already knew that, but you can tell her yourself tomorrow. For now, however, I tidied your room, so it's all ready for you."

"Wow." She yawned widely. "Thanks, Ted."

"Yes, _thank you_, Ted, for reminding me that you never listen to me," Hamilton said, but he was smiling.

"No problem, Ham. But for the record, you're the only one who thinks I have to."

"It's my job to protect you."

"From what? Sleep deprivation? Need I remind you that _you_ called _me_ at one AM, not the other way around?"

"Touché. Let's go to bed."

They quickly got Madison settled and hurried back to bed themselves. Ted didn't even bother changing out of his clothes before crawling back under the covers and falling asleep again.

* * *

The next morning, Ted smiled as his brother stepped into the dining room. He had slept in one of the spare bedrooms that night, instead of in the jail cell, and he seemed more rested than he had the day before. In any case, he appeared to have taken a shower, and was currently dressed in a simple navy polo and bluejeans. He came over and sat down next to Ted.

"Good morning," the President greeted.

Yawning, Ned replied, "Yeah, hi. I don't like mornings."

Ted laughed. "Some things never change."

Not even ten minutes had passed before Hamilton walked in, his sisters trailing behind him. They both looked considerably better than the last time Ted saw them. He greeted the trio in the same happy manner and got a much more enthusiastic reply.

"What's for breakfast?" Reagan asked hungrily.

"Pancakes," Ted answered. "I asked for them specifically. Call it a celebration."

"Celebration of what?" Dan asked, he and his sister slipping through the door, followed by Sinead.

Ted ticked each item off on his fingers as he listed them. "Ned turning from his lifestyle of racketeering, Madison getting discharged from the hospital – as well as making a full recovery – and I suppose we could also go ahead and celebrate the unveiling of the identity of The Racketeer, and the wonderful work in nanotechnology being done in USA Labs, since we never celebrated those things, either."

Amy shook her head with a smile. "You're just celebration-happy."

Ted shrugged nonchalantly, grinning wide.

Madison suddenly turned to Ned. "Don't you have something to _say_ to me, Starling? Like, 'Sorry for almost killing you' or 'Hey, what do you know, you're not dead, how would you like to run me over with a pickup truck?'"

Ned offered a wan smile. "Sorry for almost killing you, Madison. Believe me, I would take it back if I could."

"I'd be more inclined to believe you if it hadn't been for that last little blow you so kindly whispered to me."

Ned looked down, studying his fork on the table.

"What _did_ he say to you?" Dan inquired. "We all saw it, but nobody heard it."

Madison fixed her gaze on Ned, and soon, so did everybody else. They waited.

Ned looked up at each set of eyes and gave a quiet sigh. "I said," he murmured, "'It's a pity I had to do this. You look beautiful when you're dying.'"

Ted, who was taking a sip of orange juice, nearly spit it across the room. He coughed. "Are you serious? You said that?" He looked at Madison. "He said that?"

Both Ned and Madison nodded. Ned looked embarrassed.

"That's _hilarious_," Ted laughed with a goofy grin. He leaned over to Ned. "Man, when you say you're killing a crush, you're not kidding."

"I do not even _start_ with me, Ted," Ned said fiercely, but his cheeks were flushing slightly. Everyone guessed it wasn't because he was getting angry.

"Am I too old to sing 'Ned and Madison sitting in a tree,' or is that something brothers are always entitled to regardless of age?"

"Ted, I swear, shut up."

"How long were you going to keep this a secret from us?"

"Oh my God, grow up! You're so annoying!" Ned stood, fighting a blush. He made for the door. "You know what, I don't have to take this. If you need me, I'll be in-"

"You're not allowed to leave," Ian said, slipping through the doorway of the dining room, "until you give us an explanation of as to why you're all of a sudden giving up your Racketeer alias."

"Have you been eavesdropping?" Hamilton asked.

Ian smiled and held up a digital audio recorder. "More like gathering blackmail."

Ned's blush won the battle, and he dropped his face into his hands.

* * *

As it happened, Ned never got around to telling anybody the story at breakfast, and instead agreed to explain at lunch.

Three hours later, the group was seated on a blanket in the White House garden, since Madison wanted to eat lunch outside, sick of being indoors twenty-four hours a day. They ate deli meat sandwiches (which Ian promptly began complaining about until Dan elbowed him and he started complaining about that) and drank freshly squeezed lemonade as Ned began to tell the story.

"I think what really pushed me over the edge was when Ted shot me. Yeah, it wasn't a real gun, but I guess that wasn't really the point. Before this whole thing began, Ted wouldn't have dreamed of shooting me with anything more harmful than a Super Soaker. So I guess that's when I realized that something was wrong.

"I began thinking of everything I had done, looking for what might have caused Ted to get so angry with me, and I guess the rest speaks for itself: attempted murder, attempted assault, resisting arrest, escape from prison, not to mention all the racketeering I did in the beginning. Thankfully I didn't spend any of the money, but as Ted said when he came to see me that afternoon, The Racketeer was never meant to be a criminal. Not permanently. Once Ted had resigned, I was going to covertly redeposit the money into the bank accounts of its owners." He paused, and looked at the Cahills. "You did... get that done, right?"

Dan nodded and Amy said, "We're still working on it, but it shouldn't take more than a few days."

Ned nodded. "Thanks.

"Anyway, as I began thinking about all that stuff, there was nothing to pull me out of that train of thought, and so the train kinda went off its tracks. By the time Ted came to see me, I barely felt worthy of breathing. My own siblings hated me – what's left to live for?"

"We don't hate you, Ned!" Sinead said, throwing her arms around her brother's neck. "We still think you're the coolest brother in the universe."

"I know that _now_," he replied with a smile, hugging her back, "but not _then_. I wasn't sure if that final trick had made you change your mind."

"Now why would we do that?" Ted said with a smile. "I don't know about Sinead, but I was still blaming myself for you becoming The Racketeer in the first place. In fact, I still am. I kinda feel responsible for it, being that my switching ma-"

"Don't say it," Ned said firmly. "The Racketeer is my responsibility, because he was my choice and my crimes. And while we're on the subject, I would like to express my displeasure at what you did last night."

"You've already done that."

"I don't care. If the people of America choose for The Racketeer to go to prison, mark my words, it will be _The Racketeer_ that goes to prison – not the President."

"That's not what I said would happen; and besides, I already told you there was no chance of them picking that."

"Do you really think that makes a difference? This is your sick way of punishing yourself for something you didn't do, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist – although I am one – to figure out that this is extreme, insane, and completely unnecessary. I said I would take the consequences for my own actions, and I meant it; I didn't say that so you would take them for me."

Ted shrugged indifferently, popping a potato chip into his mouth.

"Do you honestly think this lab is going to take off? It's going to be owned by an ex-convict, you know."

Ted repeated the action. "Not technically."

"I don't see how you can be so calm about this!" Ned cried. "You could be going to jail. For no reason. On my charges. The stuff I've done is enough to put anyone behind bars for a very, very long time, and you're sitting here eating chips like you've got an entire lifetime ahead of you to work off their calories! Why can't you see how ridiculous this is?"

Ted smiled. "I'm blind, remember?"

"We fixed that years ago!"

"Or did we?" Ted asked suggestively.

"_Yes_, we did."

"Drat."

Ned tried one last time. "Ted, I can't bear to see you go to jail for the stuff I've done. Why are you so adamant about this?"

"Because it's not going to happen, Ned. I promise it won't. But look at it this way," the President replied as he stood up, grabbing his plate and cup to take to the kitchen, "you'll definitely never go back to crime after this, because the fear is eating you alive!" He walked away, laughing.

The ex-Racketeer glared at his brother's retreating back. "Sometimes I hate that man."

"Come on, Ned," Sinead soothed, "this is Ted we're talking about. Has he ever been wrong before?"

Ned bit his lip nervously. "You don't want me to answer that."

* * *

Finally, evening rolled around, but that meant little to nothing to Ned, because Ted refused to show his brother the results of the poll. Instead, the elder brother was sent away to gather Amy, Dan, Sinead, Hamilton, Ian, Madison, and Reagan, and escort them to the White House's front lawn where Ted was about to make his final speech on the subject of The Racketeer.

The aforementioned company took their seats behind the President on the small stage. Ted gave his brother a quick, reassuring smile before stepping up to the podium. He had forwent the jacket and necktie again, opting for his more natural "Ted Starling" look over his politician-esque "President Starling" look. Ned watched his brother from behind, every muscle in his body tense.

"Hello, people of America," Ted started with a winning grin. "It's Ted Starling again. I'm here to bring you the results of the poll I placed last night. I'm sure you all remember the story I told you, and for those of you who didn't hear it, here's a quick recap: My older brother, Ned, is The Racketeer. He was recently arrested and said he would willingly face his charges. I, however, cannot bear to see him go down like this because I know that the real reason he became The Racketeer is because I abandoned him and went into politics, going back on my promise to start a lab with him. Therefore, I make The Racketeer – and all his crimes – my responsibility."

Ned shrank in his seat.

"That is why I gave America a vote on what would happen to my brother at this point in time. The choices were either to let him go and start the lab and I would write him a check from my personal checking account in order to help him get it off the ground, thus keeping the promise I made to him when we were children; or we would put him on trial and decide a punishment for his actions, and I would take whatever he was served, be jail time, death or parole."

Ned gulped.

"America... it is time to find out what happens to The Racketeer."

Ted pulled a slip of paper from an envelope like a game show host, which seemed ridiculous to Ned, since he already knew what the results were. Maybe he was just trying to make it look official. And suspenseful. Definitely suspenseful.

"The Racketeer..."

Ned bit his lip.

"... will be going..."

"Don't say jail, anything but jail..." Ned pleaded, looking at the ground and putting his face in his hands. Amy gripped his shoulder in an attempt to calm him.

"... free."

The ex-Racketeer thought he would pass out from pure relief. When he looked up, Ted wasn't looking at the crowd, who had gone into claps and even a few cheers, but was instead looking back at his brother, a large smile on his face. "Told you!" he mouthed.

"Touché!" Ned mouthed back, returning the grin.

Ted pivoted himself back around to the microphone and said, "I'm happy to be bankrupt and not arrested, I'll be honest." The crowd laughed and cheered some more. "That said, while I sign this check, I think I'll let my brother say a few words. Ned, if you please." He gestured toward the podium.

Ned shook his head and hands in the _Oh, no, really, that's fine, I'm totally cool with staying back here_ gesture, but Ted shook his head and grabbed his brother's arm, yanking him up to the stand.

Ned gave a sheepish smile. "Heeeey, hi. I'm Ned Starling, it's great to, ah, meet you all."

Ted turned and pulled out a single folded check and began to fill it out.

"Yeah..." Ned gulped. "I-I really don't know what to say. This is a lot to take in. Yesterday I thought I was going to jail, today I thought Ted was going to jail, and now, instead, I'm getting to live my childhood dream of opening up my own laboratory. It's a lot to handle. I only wish Ted could be there to run it with me, but honestly, I think if there's one thing that this whole ordeal has taught me, it's that Ted will always make a better President than he did a scientist." He stole a glance at his brother. "And a better brother than anything."

Ted smiled, handing him the check. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You were supposed to," Ned agreed. "You're the best brother anybody could ever dream of having. I'm sorry you got me as your brother, but maybe one day I'll be able to make up for everything you've done for me over the years. And if it makes any difference, if you run for a second term, you definitely have my vote."

"You know, Ned, sometimes just knowing you're appreciated is the greatest I.O.U. gift in the world." Ted grinned.

Ned nodded as the crowd began clapping again. "Well, I guess there's only one thing left to do."

Ted turned to him, confused. "What's that?"

Grinning cheekily, Ned replied, "Enjoy the **happy ending**!"

* * *

**Note:** Happy ending indeed! I hope the finale didn't disappoint. (:

I got a lot of compliments on the way I numbered my chapters in this story; which makes me happy, because I number every multi-chapter differently, and I always try to do it in a way that somewhat goes with the theme of the story. For The Racketeer's chapters, I used the Military Alphabet, which goes as follows:

Alpha | Bravo | Charlie | Delta | Echo | Foxtrot | Golf | Hotel | India | Juliett | Kilo (key-loh) | Lima (lee-mah) | Mike | November | Oscar | Papa | Quebec | Romeo | Sierra | Tango | Uniform | Victor | Whiskey | Xray | Yankee | Zulu

I only wish The Racketeer had been long enough to use them all.

I'd like to give a final shout-out to all my reviewers, especially Ros (Guest), who reviewed almost every chapter except for Bravo and Charlie. It really means a lot to me, especially since, a couple times, that was the only review I'd get for a chapter. It really boosted my confidence. Thanks so much, Ros, and to the rest of my lovely reviewers, fans, and friends. It means the world.

Hugs,

Bre xoxo


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